


Belasco's Beatrice

by RowenaZahnrei



Category: Excalibur (Comic), X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men Universe X
Genre: Brainwashing, Childhood Memories, Circus, Cruelty, Dimension Travel, Dreamscapes, Emotional Manipulation, Faustian Bargain, Fratricide, Gen, Hope, Loss, Loss of Control, Loss of Trust, Love, Memory, Mental Anguish, Mental Instability, Mind Manipulation, Mob Anger, Mob Violence, Murder, Personality Swap, Physical Abuse, Redemption, Swordfighting, Swords & Sorcery, genetic manipulation, mindscape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-06-05 23:13:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 27
Words: 66,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6727333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowenaZahnrei/pseuds/RowenaZahnrei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired primarily by Universe X and the Draco story arc.  </p><p>Is the demon Belasco really a brainwashed Nightcrawler? If so, can Kurt ever hope for redemption? </p><p>A fight for identity and hope, waged across the battlefield of a cruelly fractured mind...</p><p>Now featuring an awesome illustration by CurlyyHairGirl! :D</p><p>COMPLETE STORY!  If you peek, Please Review! :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: I don't own the X-Men in any of their multiple incarnations. Please don't sue me or steal my story!
> 
> NOTE: In Italian, Beatrice is pronounced Bee-a-TREECH-eh. Since the great Dante wrote his "Divine Comedy" in Italian, I would guess Belasco would say the name with the Italian pronounciation. So, the title of this story is "Belasco's Bee-a-TREECH-eh."
> 
> NOTE II: The opening speech (from "There..." to "What about Kurt Wagner?" ) is quoted directly from Universe X Volume 2. The descriptions in between those quotes and everything that follows is mine (except the characters themselves, of course. Those are Marvel's).

Belasco's Beatrice  
By Rowena Zahnrei

Chapter One

The sun was shining, the grass was lush and green, and the sound of happy shouts and carefree laughter wafted through the fragrant springtime air. The destruction of the earth had been averted, the lives of every man, woman, and child had been saved. For the first time in too long a time it seemed God was in His heaven and all was right with the world.

Unnoticed by the happy people practicing their powers in the grassy clearing, a cloaked, shadowy figure grabbed hold of a rough tree branch and leaned forward, glaring down at the scene with cold, yellow eyes. Dirty bandages wrapped his long, red fingers, holding them together in twos, though there was no evidence of a wound.

The observer's glowing eyes sought out and fixed themselves on one figure in particular; a tall, slender man with short, snow-white hair and an imposing air of charismatic power.

"There..." the shadow whispered, his low voice barely audible above the rustle of the tender, new leaves that shielded his malevolent form from view. "There. Magneto is an ally now. A hero. A friend." 

He frowned, turning his gaze from the imposing old man to the mutants playing all around him. 

"You've succeeded in redeeming him, X-Men, as you have almost all your enemies. Magneto...the Brotherhood...Unus...Juggernaut...Sauron. You saved them all."

The shadowy figure glared at his bandaged red hand, its long, claw-like nails digging into the tree's rough bark. 

"But what of a friend's redemption?"

His long, angular face twisted in an expression of bitter pain, and he gripped the branch harder with his spade-tipped tail. 

"Why haven't you redeemed me? What about Kurt Wagner?"

A powerful shudder ran down his spine, causing his tail to untwine itself from the thick tree branch. He knew the answer to that question. He'd known it even before he'd voiced it.

It was because he 'had' been a friend that the X-Men avoided him now. What he had done to them had been so terrible...so unforgivable...

"You betrayed them," he whispered, his harsh, accusing voice burning in his sharply pointed ears. "'I' betrayed them. I tortured them, tormented them, killed them...for no reason..."

He snorted, his golden eyes flashing with a fiery rage. 

"No reason," he snarled, baring his fangs. "I had reasons. I did it out of hatred. I did it for spite. The others - Magneto and the Brotherhood, even Juggernaut to some degree - they were acting on their own beliefs, twisted and misguided though they may have been. Magneto truly believed his view was right. He believed in his ideals as strongly as that fool Xavier and his pretentious X-Men believed in theirs. When he fought, it was in defense of those ideals. When Juggernaut attacked, it was out of a personal hatred grown out of a painful past history with his brother Charles. But, when I—"

He broke off, leaning back on his branch and clutching his horned head with his one, red hand.

"Why am I here? What am I doing here?" he growled, running his claws fiercely through his wavy, crimson hair. "I neither need nor want their forgiveness. I don't need them at all!"

Bringing his hand to his mouth, he savagely tore the bandages from his fingers with his sharp fangs, flexing them together, then one at a time.

"I am 'not' the pathetic circus freak they knew, the grotesquely deformed mutant who would eagerly forgive any trespass just to be 'liked' by a group of arrogant 'fools' who were 'never' worth the effort!" 

He scowled, his russet features hardened by hatred.

"Kurt Wagner is dead," he stated, his breath quickening slightly as the blunt words passed his narrow lips. "I am Belasco. And a demon has no need for redemption."

Where a certain blue, fuzzy, elf-like mutant may once have teleported from the branch with a soft BAMF of imploding air and a theatrical flash of smoke, Belasco climbed down to the soft, new grass using his tail and his one, strong arm. He stalked away, his long cloak swirling by his ankles, unaware that his five unbandaged fingers had again divided themselves into a familiar, tridactyl form...

To Be Continued...


	2. Chapter 2

Ororo Munroe called up a tiny rain cloud and sent it to float inside the humid greenhouse, her blue eyes falling on her potted fig tree. She and Kurt had planted that tree together, many years ago. Before they had lost him in that cave, encased in stone by the Gray Gargoyle. 

Or so they'd believed...

Her lips tightened as she approached the tree, lightly brushing its deep, green leaves with her fingertips. It had been so small then, barely more than a sapling. Ororo hadn't seen much point in repotting it at all, doubting it would make it through the winter, but Kurt had complete confidence in her ability to coax the sickly little plant into vibrant, glorious life. He had always—

Ororo shivered and stalked away from the tree, unable to face it or the memories it evoked any longer.

It had been a year since the truth of Belasco's identity had been revealed. A whole year, and the X-Men were still reeling from the shock. All of them, Hank, Jean, the Professor, Scott, they were still unwilling to talk, to face the idea that this monster, this heartless demon could actually be—

But, no. No, even if Kurt had been kidnapped, brainwashed... It was impossible. Ororo simply could not equate the cruel, angry creature she knew as Belasco with the sweet, forgiving man she had believed dead for so long. To think her elfish friend could have transformed into the very demon he had been reviled as all his life...it was too painful for her to bear. 

But...if it was true... If this embittered, hate-filled copy of Belasco was indeed her old friend...

They had known for so long. 'She' had known. Yet, they had left him alone. Alone and suffering, all this time...

Ororo raised her arms, causing her tiny rain cloud to dissipate into little more than a wisp of warm steam. Then, she turned and strode purposefully out of the greenhouse and into the hallway.

She knew where to find him. They all did. Since discovering his true identity, Kurt had settled himself in the cruelest, most violent section of the city, a place made all the more dangerous now the population was made up almost entirely by mutants. Reports painted him as a terrifying figure; a sword-wielding wraith, able to strike a dread fear in the hearts of the most hardened underworld criminals.

Ororo pursed her lips, and lowered her head. Kurt's compassion for others had always fed the heroic drive at the core of his nature. Even now, after all that had been done to him, she could still picture him as a protector, a defender; his long, red cape billowing around his lean form as he crouched in the shadows of the decrepit rooftops, a sword in his russet hand, his long tail mirroring the movements of his alert, sweeping eyes. 

She saw a tortured, lonely figure, a pure soul twisted and tormented by anguished guilt and searing pain, and her eyes stung with the shame of it. 

The others wouldn't approach him. This...current incarnation... They found it too unsettling, still too uncertain that he was...who they suspected he was. After all he'd done as Belasco, there was no doubt Kurt felt the same. The past year had only spread that much more distance between them, made the excuses that much easier to bear. If any sort of contact was to be made, any hope of reconciliation...

Ororo had to make the first move: no more excuses, no more procrastination, no more fear.

Grabbing her scarf from the foyer closet, Ororo turned to open the mansion's front door.

"Hey, 'Ro!"

"Scott!" she gasped. "I'm sorry, you startled me. Did you want something?"

Cyclops shook his head. 

"No, not really. I was just curious." He gestured to the elegant scarf. "You look like you're going out."

Ororo peered at him through aloof, blue eyes. 

"So I am."

Scott knew that look all too well. He held up his hands in mock surrender. 

"I know, I know, it's none of my business," he said. "But, still, I suppose there's no chance you might fill me in on where you're going? Just in case anyone asks."

Ororo's gaze didn't waver. 

"I'm going to visit a friend. That's all."

"If that really is all, then what's with all the secrecy?" Scott countered.

Ororo's glare darkened, and she assumed her most imperious bearing. 

"Before I tell you, know this first. Nothing you nor anyone else may say will sway me from what I plan to do. The X-Men do not abandon their friends, no matter how terribly they may have hurt us in the past."

"Let me guess," Cyclops said. "You're going to see Kurt, aren't you."

Storm just looked at him, her blue gaze steady. 

Scott nodded.

"Look, 'Ro, I understand your concern for him. I share it. But that man out there....he's not the Kurt Wagner we knew. Not anymore. He's confused, dangerous. If you approach him now, I doubt he would even recognize you, let alone listen to you."

Ororo sighed through her nose and turned her head, staring at the umbrella stand by the door.

"Scott," she said, "Kurt needs our help."

Scott pursed his lips, knowing she couldn't see his narrowed eyes through his ruby-quartz glasses. 

"Why do you say that?"

"Because I know him, Scott!" Ororo snapped. "For years, whenever any of us were hurting or confused or angry at the unfairness of the world, Kurt was there to comfort us with a few kind words of honest compassion. Kurt! The one out of all of us who had the most right to be bitter about his situation was the one who gave thanks to his God each day for his good fortune! And do you know what was chief on his list, Scott?"

Scott shook his head, knowing better than to speak.

"His friends. His 'friends', Scott. He counted 'us' first among his blessings, and he always went out of his way to make sure he lived up to what he believed was our unconditional acceptance of him. And we took him for granted, Scott. We took his love for granted. That's why Mephisto was able to approach him as he did. 'We' opened the door for that demon to sneak his poison through, 'we' gave that snake an entrance into Kurt's heart. We're just as much responsible for his current situation as that monster and his repugnant father, Azazel!"

"'Ro—" Scott protested, but her searing glare cut him short.

"Kurt is hurting, Scott!" she said. "He must be in agony over what Belasco has done. And, this past year has proven he is not going to come to us. It's not his way to ask for help, not like that. He was always willing to come to our aid, to help us through our petty problems, but we both know Kurt kept his own suffering to himself, revealing his pain only to his God. That's why I'm going to him now, whether he wants me there or not."

Scott ground his teeth as a wave of shame rolled over him. He nodded, forcing himself to meet Ororo's fierce, tear-filled eyes.

"You're right. You're right, Ororo," he said. "You should go to him. And, I'm going with you."

Ororo's stern expression relaxed into a soft smile. 

"No, Scott," she said. "Your offer is appreciated, but... I feel this is something I must do alone."

Scott opened his mouth to protest, to alert her to the dangers of the part of town where Kurt had taken up residence, to warn her of the danger that Kurt himself might pose to her, but he stopped himself. Ororo was a brave, capable leader. She could more than handle herself in a fight, even against Belasco. 

Besides, she was right. Kurt might reach out to her if she approached him alone, but if he realized she had company he might withdraw into himself, or even get violent. 

Slowly, Scott nodded, his shoulders sagging slightly.

"All right, Ororo," he said. "Just, stay in contact, and tell me how it went when you get back, OK?"

Ororo's smile broadened slightly, but it did not light her anguished eyes. 

"Of course, Scott," she said. "I should be back before dawn."

To Be Continued...


	3. Chapter 3

Bundled in tattered blankets, all but invisible among the deep shadows of the dusty, crumbling spire of the old cathedral, a man woke from a restless sleep. He sat up, crying out into the darkness—a strangled, anguished sound that tore painfully from his throat. He was trembling, sobbing, the hot tears streaming down his narrow face—but as he slowly rose to full consciousness, the memory of whatever horrors had haunted his dreams faded, leaving only blankness and a cold, lingering fear.

Disoriented and confused, the man stumbled awkwardly to his feet, stepping into his worn, leather boots and walking slowly to the small, open window on the far side of the cramped, cobwebby space. He climbed up onto a pile of dusty, cloth-draped crates and slipped out the window with practiced ease, hauling himself up onto the moss-covered slates with his one arm.

The brisk night air helped to revive him as he crouched on the sloped roof, still and silent as a protective gargoyle. His long, spade-tipped tail was wrapped securely around the long pole that supported the large cross which marked this place out as holy ground.

Lowering his head slightly, he noticed his hand was trembling. He clenched his fist tightly, taking in a deep, calming breath as he strove to slow his racing heartbeat. Without thinking, he reached into the pocket of his cloak and pulled out two long strips of cloth, using his teeth to quickly and securely bind his fingers into a tridactyl shape. For some unfathomable reason, that made him feel safer somehow, more grounded.

Shaking his head in something close to disgust, the man ran his newly bandaged fingers through his short, crimson hair. Ridiculous. That's what he was. He was letting this place get to him, and such weakness was unacceptable.

He snarled, glaring down at the graffiti covered buildings and torn-up pavement far below. What madness had made him decide to take up residence in the spire of a cathedral anyway? True, it was the best vantage point for viewing the squalid, corrupt swath of crumbling city streets he had chosen to make his home, but by all rights, he shouldn't even be able to stand there. Even now, he half expected to see his booted feet burst into flame where they touched the mossy slate roof. He was almost disappointed when it didn't happen. After all, a church was no place for a demon.

But was he a demon? That was the question that had been causing him to loose sleep for almost a year, ever since he had traveled back to the ruin on the mountain and seen what appeared to be his own body encased in ice. The ancient, frozen corpse had stood in exactly the right spot, in exactly the same position where he remembered fighting that fateful duel against his best friend so many years ago. Dante had won that fight; severing Belasco's arm and causing the demon to accidentally slice through the duct above him, releasing the gas that had frozen him instantly in place. Despite his heroic actions, though, the poet had been unable to save the life of his beloved Beatrice, the woman Belasco had abducted and ultimately murdered as he strove to do the will of the Elder Gods.

The russet-skinned man shuddered deeply at the dark memories - real or implanted, he didn't know. Hesitantly, he reached up to touch the two sharp horns that protruded from his smooth forehead. The realization that he might in fact be the mutant Kurt Wagner terrified him even more than the idea of being a demon. After all, if he was truly a demon the evil he had worked over the centuries was just a manifestation of his true nature and he had nothing to feel guilt or fear over. But, if he really was Kurt Wagner, how could he possibly begin to atone for his many sins? How could he continue to live with the knowledge of the horrors he had perpetrated, the lives he had ruined, and the lives he had taken?

He sighed deeply and turned his glowing gaze to the twinkling stars. The tempting thought of suicide had been flitting across his tormented mind since long before the nightmares began. It would be so easy to put an end to his pain once and for all. All he had to do was loosen his grip on the pole. He would roll down the slanted roof, gaining speed as he went, until that wonderfully liberating moment when he found himself in free fall. He would spread his arm out to its full length, welcoming the chill breeze that whipped his hair back and caused his cloak to billow out behind him as he spun toward the ground.

Then, the impact.

He had to admit, it would be a fitting end for an acrobat who had lost his balance.

He had no idea if the impact would hurt, or if the shock would last long enough for him to leave his malformed, disfigured body without pain or regret. Either way, he knew a swift, easy end like that was far less than he deserved. He deserved to suffer, to hurt. He deserved a long, drawn out, painful death at the hands of those he had so gravely and repeatedly wronged. 

Unfortunately, he knew all too well that such an end was something the X-Men could never give him.

Surprisingly, the only part of him that kept his tail wrapped securely around the pole, the only part that kept him from pressing his chest against the pointed end of his sword when the nightmares became too much to bear, was the same part that cried out from the depths of his shredded psyche that he was, indeed, Kurt Wagner. This soft, accented voice that rattled around in his head like a ghost he could not see or touch was also the part that demanded he take full responsibility for kidnapping and corrupting little Illyana Rasputin, the sister of the X-Man known as Colossus, and for repeatedly manipulating and torturing the X-Men who had tried so valiantly to come to her rescue. Kurt Wagner, ever the wide-eyed optimist, honestly believed that if he truly accepted his guilt, demonstrated true penitence, he could seek absolution for his crimes, no matter how sadistic they had been. Only suicide could never be forgiven, and suicide, the ghostly voice argued, was the coward's way out. If there was one thing Kurt Wagner had never been and never would be, it was a coward.

The russet skinned man sat back on his heels, his darkly swirling thoughts unearthing a shadowy memory of a time when he wouldn't have needed to hold himself in place by his tail. Once, his feet would have stuck to the moldy surface of the roof as easily and securely as a magnet sticks to a refrigerator door. That's how it had been back when there were no boots that could fit his feet and his heels were little more than a third toe. He remembered walking up walls and crawling across ceilings, giving less thought to this extraordinary ability than a spider or fly.

He reached out a tentative hand and gingerly touched the roof, waiting for the familiar feeling of attraction to run across his skin, raising his short, velvety fur like static electricity. When it didn't come, he looked down at his red, furless, five-fingered hand with some confusion, not recognizing it for a moment.

"Idiot," he muttered, snatching his bandaged fingers from the slate tile. "You are not a mutant." Casting his bitter, yellow gaze over the darkened streets he sighed, hanging his head. "I don't know what you are. Or even who."

A soft breeze ruffled his crimson hair as an even softer voice responded with confidence and firm self-assurance: "You are Kurt Wagner, the best and most honorable man I know, no matter what has been done to you."

The russet-skinned man turned to face the apparition that had addressed him, his golden eyes widening in shock and fear as a lithe, female figure dressed all in white floated over to him on a cloud of sparkling mist. For a long moment, his muddled mind couldn't shake the bizarre impression that she was an angel, sent at last to redeem him of his past sins and welcome him to eternal bliss. As she alighted next to him, surefooted on the slippery moss, a single, reverent word managed to slip past his painfully tightening throat.

"...Beatrice..."

The woman seemed confused, her dark head tilting to one side as she crouched down on the slate tiles before him, brushing her fine, snowy hair from her luminous blue eyes with an elegantly careless flick of her wrist.

"Kurt?" she asked, her deep, soothing voice laced with concern. "Are you all right?"

He couldn't breathe, he couldn't speak. The angel was reaching out to him, actually taking his hideously clawed red fingers in her own warm, perfect hands. Her dark lips were moving...she was speaking, saying something— It was so hard to hear her words over the pounding of his heart...

"How did this happen?" she asked, running her fingers over his bandages.

He could only stare at her dumbly, uncomprehending.

"Your fingers, Kurt," she elaborated, her eyes openly displaying her worry. "Are you hurt?"

Kurt - no, Belasco - yes, Belasco - shook his head. 

"No, my lady," he answered, his voice soft with reverence. "It's just that there are times when it seems more natural for me to grip things with three fingers than with five. I cannot explain it."

The woman stared at him, a new look of cautious concern growing in her large eyes.

"Kurt," she said, her words now slow and deliberate as though she were speaking to a child. "I'm afraid I don't understand. Do you recognize me? Can you say who I am?"

Belasco - or was it Kurt? - rose gracefully to his booted feet, causing her to rise with him as he took her hand in his and lifted it gently to his crimson lips for a brief, courtly kiss. 

"You are my soul, my heart, my redeeming angel," he sighed, hardly daring to look into her eyes. "You are my beloved, my lady fair. You are Beatrice."

Ororo could almost hear her hopes crumbling as he spoke those words. Releasing her hand, he fell into a low genuflect at her feet, his one arm draped over his raised knee, his glowing eyes lowered humbly to the mossy slate below her feet. 

"Please, tell me what it is you wish of your humble servant, and it will be done."

Ororo stared and shook her head, her mouth moving without words. Then, she strode forward and grasped the horned man's shoulders, giving him a gentle, though firm, shake.

"Kurt, look at me," she demanded. "Look at me! You are not Belasco and I am certainly not Beatrice."

She fell to her knees beside him, cupping his narrow chin in her hands as she forced him to look into her eyes.

"My name is Ororo Munroe," she told him, using all her control to keep her voice from breaking. "We've been friends, teammates, for years. Please, Kurt, tell me you remember me? Tell me you're still in there somewhere."

For a moment, an instant, really, his golden eyes lit up with a flash of wondrous recognition. His ruddy features softened and, suddenly, Ororo could see the ghost of her old friend's handsome face blinking out at her from behind the demonic mask of Belasco's russet skin.

"...Storm...?"

This stunning transformation lasted barely long enough for Ororo to draw in an astonished breath. The horned man leaped to his feet, pulling her roughly by the elbow and holding her at arm's length. His grip was like a painful vice, and his pupil-less yellow eyes burned with such dark emotions, the sight terrified the brave woman straight through to her marrow.

"What do you want here?" he growled through clenched teeth, his pointed fangs gleaming wickedly in the moonlight. "Why did you come?"

At that moment, Ororo was unsure of the answer herself. She stared at the monster before her, desperately willing herself to overcome the terror freezing her body, threatening to overwhelm her thoughts. Calling on her link with the elements, Storm began to gather the stray zaps of electricity that streaked unnoticed through the air around them.

Belasco snarled in fury as her deep, blue eyes began to whiten. Giving her arm a vicious shake, he leaned his narrow face in close to hers, his eyes gleaming with deadly intent. 

"Don't even consider it, witch," he spat. "I know all your devious little tricks. I knew this day would come sooner or later, that you X-Freaks would try to finish me off once you realized that I have lost my link with Limbo."

He sneered, the look in his golden eyes causing her to shudder. 

"I must admit, disguising yourself as Beatrice was a new low I would not have expected, even of you," he said darkly, his tail twitching behind him like a snake. "But now you have revealed yourself, I will make your death all the more unpleasant."

Ororo glared at him, preparing to twist out of his grip and come back with a flash of lighting so powerful it just might bring him to his senses. But, Belasco anticipated her movements, snaring her neck with his long, powerful tail and slowly beginning to squeeze.

"Very well," he said with a flippant, careless air. "Death by strangulation, so be it. Pity though..." He smirked, fixing her with another malevolent glare. "I was so looking forward to hearing you scream."

"Kurt!" Ororo gasped, struggling to meet his golden eyes. "Kurt, I know you're in there! I know you're angry! But, Kurt, you must take control now. You cannot let Belasco continue to use you like this!" 

She choked as Belasco's grip tightened, blurry spots beginning to swim before her eyes. She squeezed them shut, putting all her remaining strength into forcing her constricting throat to form words. 

"No matter what you do to me, I will always love you, Kurt Wagner...my dearest...friend..."

And the nighttime world slowly faded to black.

*******

Belasco looked down at the unconscious woman at his feet, the cold satisfaction he had felt twisting and curdling in his gut until he had to turn away, his glowing eyes burning with horrified shame at what he had just done.

"You fool," he hissed, his sharp nails digging painfully into the flesh of his palm. "She came. After all this time, after all the waiting, the hoping, the ranting at the silent moon, one of the X-Men finally found the courage to reach out to you. And how do you respond?"

He turned back to face Ororo, his hard expression crumbling as he knelt down beside her.

"Ach, mein Liebling," he whispered, slowly reaching out with trembling fingers to brush a stray strand of silvery hair from her mocha forehead. "What have I done?"

*******

Ororo slowly rose back to foggy consciousness, only to find she was lying sprawled on a cold, flat, stone floor. Her throat ached so much it was all she could do to emit a weak cough. 

As she did, she became aware of a presence looming over her, barely visible in the shadow of an arched, stone doorway. 

She struggled to sit up, to remember how she had gotten inside the cathedral, but a deep voice, as chilling as death itself, stopped her in mid-motion.

"I don't want your pity, Ororo," the shadow said, the faintest hint of an accent clinging like a ghost to his vowels. She could have sworn it hadn't been there when he was speaking to her on the roof.

Ororo struggled to her feet, opening her mouth to protest. To her shock, nothing came out. Her damaged vocal chords would not allow her to speak. 

The dark figure averted his glowing eyes from the expression on her face.

"Leave this place now," he said quietly, his voice burning with a bitter anger, tinged with shame. "Go back to your friends."

Ororo made no move to leave, wondering who it was that was speaking to her now. Was it still Belasco, deciding to let her go for some devious reason of his own - perhaps to lure the other X-Men into a trap of some sort after she'd returned home? 

Or could it possibly be...Kurt?

"I told you to go!" the cloaked figure snarled, stepping forward into the light. Her eyes widened as she saw he now brandished a long, gleaming sword.

"GO!" the horned man roared, advancing on her like a monster out of her darkest childhood nightmares. "Go now, or I swear I will run you through in return for all the times you and your precious teammates have taken advantage of me, betrayed me, and abandoned me without a thought for my feelings! You are none of you worth my time or concern."

"P...please..." Ororo managed to whisper-

"GO!" he screamed in a voice so full of rage and hurt that it broke Ororo's heart to hear it. But, it was just what was needed to free her from her frozen stupor. As she ran for the heavy, wooden door, the anguished, bitter voice stabbed at her heels, giving her an added burst of speed.

"Go now! And never come back!"

The thick door slammed behind her, and she understood. She knew beyond all doubt who had spoken. For the first time since she'd known him, she realized she could never again expect forgiveness from Kurt Wagner.

"Sweet Goddess," she sobbed painfully, her hoarse voice barely more than a whispered croak. "What have we done to you, my friend? What have we allowed to happen?"

Swiftly, Ororo called up a burst of wind and used it to lift herself into the air. A cold, drizzling rain trailed her all the way back to the mansion.

To Be Continued...


	4. Chapter 4

Scott Summers tossed and turned, then finally sat up. His mind was too full to sleep. Moving carefully so as not to disturb his sleeping wife, Scott exchanged his flexible 'sleep visor' for his ruby-quartz glasses, slid his feet into his bedroom slippers, and padded silently out the bedroom door. If anyone had asked, he would have said he was just going down to the rec room to see what was playing on TV. Deep down, though, the responsible leader in him knew there was no way he'd be able to sleep until Ororo had returned home, safe and sound.

Scott grabbed the remote control and turned on the TV, then he stretched out on the long, comfortable sofa and sighed. The first twelve channels he flipped through were mainly infomercials and news broadcasts in Italian, Spanish, and Portuguese. After a few more flicks, the image of a ragged man with long hair and a scraggly beard being rescued by a small, wooden sailing ship caught and held his attention.

Scott frowned. Something about this movie seemed familiar. He could almost remember - no, he could remember watching it with Kurt ages ago, long before the disastrous face-off against the Gray Gargoyle. The crazy elf had been going on and on, comparing this movie to some earlier version from the 1930s or something. Scott hadn't paid much attention at the time, but he knew he could remember the title. It was right on the tip of his tongue...

"You're watching the 1975 TV classic, 'The Count of Monte Cristo' starring Richard Chamberlain and Tony Curtis. Coming up next, don't miss Stewart Granger and Mel Ferrer in the movie that boasts one of the longest sword duels in swashbuckling history: the 1952 film adaptation of Rafael Sabatini's 'Scaramouche'. Then at three, lighten up with Danny Kaye and Basil Rathbone in 'The Court Jester'. It's an all night movie marathon, right here on..."

Scott snapped his fingers as he listened to the announcer's voice, a smile spreading across his face. Of course! 'The Count of Monte Cristo' - one of those corny old sword-fighting flicks Kurt had always been so keen on. His smile broadened as he recalled how positively exuberant the elf used to get whenever one of those musty old things came on TV. And, tonight there was a marathon! If Kurt had been there with him right then, he would have been in heaven!

Scott blinked at that thought, then swallowed hard against the sudden lump in his throat, his heart sinking as he ran his hand slowly through his hair.

He should have gone with Ororo. He had given in to her far too easily, allowing his own guilt over Kurt's condition to make her argument for her. And now, she was out there without any back-up or support, determined to face a schizoid madman...alone.

Scott's gaze hardened behind his visor. That creature Storm was so determined to confront was not their Kurt, not by any stretch of the imagination. He was disturbed, angry - sadistic! For all intents and purposes, he was the demon he appeared to be, a violent, hate-filled monster. And, most of that burning hatred was directed at the X-Men.

Scott sighed through his teeth, staring at the commercials without really seeing them. If anything happened to Ororo, it would be entirely his fault. He had let her walk straight into a snake pit, and he had done it knowing this snake was particularly deadly, its poison the very fact that the good, open-hearted man he had once been still held such sway over their hearts. Kurt Wagner been the soul of the team for so long; he had been such a dear friend to them all. If they allowed themselves to hope he could return to them, if they let him get too close, Belasco could, and would, use their own guilt and pain to destroy them - and he would extract cruel pleasure from every moment of it.

The movie had returned, but Scott couldn't stand to watch it any longer. He turned off the TV, then slammed the remote down on the coffee table. Frustration and worry seethed through him, and he began to pace the room. If Ororo didn't return in three minutes, he was heading out to find her, no matter the risk. Belasco had already stolen Kurt from them. He wasn't about to let him take Ororo too.

The distant sound of the front door opening cut into Scott's dark thoughts. The X-Men's leader dashed down the hallway to the foyer, nearly tripping on the edge of the patterned rug in his hurry.

Ororo was there, leaning limply against the back of the door, her mocha features cloaked by the darkness of the room. The moon, which had been shining brightly while Scott was in the rec room, was now obscured by clouds, and a light, drizzly rain had started outside.

"Ororo?" Scott asked as he slowly approached her, treading carefully through the darkness. "How did it go?"

Ororo looked up, her wide eyes glittering in the dim light of the streetlamp by the driveway, her damp hair appearing almost gray. Then, before Scott could react, the normally stoic Ororo was in his arms, clinging to him desperately as she sobbed brokenly against his chest.

"He's there, Scott," she whispered hoarsely into his shoulder. "It's Kurt. I saw him. He spoke to me."

Scott frowned, stroking her back as she continued to cry. 

"Ororo, what's wrong with your voice?" he asked as gently as he could. "What happened out there?"

Ororo just shook her head, her wet clothes, hair, and tears leaving a damp spot on Scott's nightshirt. Scott's frown deepened, and he broke her embrace to seek out the light switch.

"No, Scott!" Ororo croaked as she realized what he was doing. "Don't! It's all right. I—"

But it was too late. Bright light flooded the foyer, causing them both to squint and blink as their eyes adjusted. 

Ororo stood straight, stoic and aloof as she met Scott's gaze without anger or shame. Scott gasped, then glared as he caught sight of the bruises on Ororo's slender neck.

"Did he do this to you," he demanded, advancing on her in fury. 

Ororo didn't answer, her expression calm and unwavering. 

The red, multi-faceted lenses of Scott's glasses began to glow.

"Don't you dare defend him, Ororo," he snapped. "If Belasco hurt you, you have to tell me."

"Yes," Ororo acknowledged after a long, tense pause, her hoarse voice barely above a whisper. "Belasco did try to hurt me. But Kurt let me go. I think...I think he was trying to protect me."

Scott furrowed his brow over his shades. 

"What do you mean?"

Ororo shook her head, raising one hand to her bruised throat. 

Scott scowled, then sighed, reaching out to put a brotherly hand on her shoulder.

"Come on," he said. "Let's get you down to the medbay. We can talk about this once you're better."

Ororo nodded, allowing Scott to lead her to the stairs.

Outside, the soft, drizzling rain continued to fall.

To Be Continued...


	5. Interlude: A Bit on Belasco

Hi! Thanks so much for reading, I'm really glad you've been enjoying my story so far! :) 

I had to do a fair amount of research while planning out this story, tracking down older comics and character backstories, so before moving on with the story, I'll share what I found out here in this Very Special Interlude. ;)

First of all, about Azazel. According to the six-part serial "Uncanny X-Men: The Draco," Azazel is supposedly Nightcrawler's biological father. Kurt learned Mystique was his biological mother in "X-Men Unlimited #4: Theories of Relativity." It had long been said Kurt's real father was a German Count, Eric Wagner. The "Draco" arc suggested this Count was a Baron called Christian, that a disguised Azazel was his business partner, and that he seduced Mystique. But, Mystique's a professional liar and alters her own history (and shape) to her advantage whenever it suits her so...whatever. Anyway, Azazel was a powerful, ancient, red-skinned, demon-looking mutant who had long ago been banished to an alternate dimension by creatures that looked like angels. He had about a gazillion kids over the centuries, some red, some blue, some neither, but many with yellow eyes. Kurt was one of very, very few people who ever dared to stand up to him. In "Belasco's Beatrice," Azazel's agenda is fueled by his response to Kurt's defiance as well as his own ambitions.

My story was inspired by several of the events shown in the graphic novel "Universe X Vol. 2." I say 'inspired' because it only deals with Kurt/Belasco's part of the story and pretty much ignores everything else. The plot for "Belasco's Beatrice" is completely original, so you don't really have to worry about knowing a lot of background information on the X-Men. Hopefully, the necessary backstory will become clearer as the story goes along and pieces of Belasco/Kurt's past are revealed little by little. In order to make it less confusing, though, I'll include notes to let you know which parts I made up, which parts are from the comics, and which parts are based on the biographies of the real Dante Aligheri (author of the epic poem "The Divine Comedy," written in the Tuscan dialect of Florence between 1308-1320) and his 'muse,' Beatrice Portinari.

And now: about Belasco. I found this information at various sites on the Internet, in back-issue comics, and in "Universe X Vol.2." Some of it was contradictory, but I did the best I could to sort it all out.

The character Belasco made his first appearance in "Ka-Zar The Savage #11." He was originally some kind of sorcerer from 13th century Italy. I figure that since, in the stories, he knew Dante and Beatrice, he had to have lived in Florence at some point before 1290. (That was the year Beatrice died. She was 24.)

Belasco apparently suffered from a bad case of pleonexia (the single-minded desire for dangerous knowledge, no matter the consequences). He used his skill at alchemy and 'the dark arts' to make contact with some powerful, demonic beings known as The Elder Gods. He made a rather Faustian deal with them: he'd help them to cross over to Earth from their dimension with the help of the mysterious, magical stones known as 'bloodstones' and they, in turn, would grant him immortality and power. There was a second part to the deal, though. Belasco was supposed to breed a race of demons for them on Earth. To this end, they drastically changed his appearance—hence the red skin, the horns, and the tail. They also gave him a specially forged sword.

In his new, demonic form, Belasco kidnapped Beatrice and took her to a land called Pangea, which had once been inhabited by a technologically advanced race that used climate control to make the place into a tropical recreation center or something.

Dante tracked them down, but he was too late to save Beatrice from her horrific fate. She had been forced by Belasco and died in childbirth. Enraged, Dante fought Belasco in a volcano; a duel that ended when the demon accidentally sliced through an overhead duct with his sword, releasing a gas that froze him instantly (Rather like Boris Grishenko in James Bond: Golden Eye! (little joke...Actor Alan Cumming played both Boris and Nightcrawler in the movies.) ;) ).

Centuries later, Belasco appeared again under unexplained circumstances. He claimed the volcano had become active again, causing him to thaw out. He tried once again to contact the Elder Gods with one of the remaining bloodstones, but he was stopped by Ka-Zar after he abducted Ka-Zar's girlfriend Shanna O'Hara to be his new mate. Ka-Zar threw the bloodstone into the volcano, closing the inter-dimentional rift Belasco had opened and preventing the Elder Gods from coming through. As punishment for this second failure on his part, the Elder Gods trapped Belasco in a dimension known as Limbo.

Time in Limbo is very different from time on Earth. Years there would only be moments here. No one knows how long he was trapped there, but over time he managed to become the absolute ruler of that dimension of demons. There, he encountered, fought, and corrupted an X-Men team from an alternate dimension. Later, he brought the official Marvel X-Men team from Earth 616 to Limbo, where they met the older, corrupted versions of themselves (See King Size Annual X-Men #4: Nightcrawler's Inferno). Then, Belasco proceeded to torment them. These X-Men managed to escape him, but not before he had seized Piotr Rasputin's (Colossus) little sister Illyana. He made her his apprentice and used her soul to make a number of new bloodstones to help him finally succeed in bringing the Elder Gods to Earth. However, this process corrupted the girl and infused her with magical abilities. When she was fourteen, she turned on Belasco and defeated him, driving him from Limbo so she could take over. She became the powerful sorceress known as Magik, managing to return to Earth mere moments after the X-Men's escape from Limbo. To them, it appeared as though she had aged instantly from an innocent little girl to a powerful fourteen year old. She eventually joined the New Mutants.

Years later, Belasco returned as a threat to the X-Men. This time, he was told by the reborn Captain Mar-Vell that he was not really the demon Belasco at all, but a brainwashed copy. His true name was Kurt Wagner, the X-Man Nightcrawler who had been presumed dead after a disastrous confrontation with the Gray Gargoyle many years before (See Universe X Vol.2). The Gargoyle had tried to trap him and his team in stone. Nightcrawler had tried to teleport away, but he reappeared without his arm or his mutant attributes. Weak and lost, he searched for help, but was beaten almost to death by a mob of angry mutants. It was then that the 'demon' Mephisto (quite possibly one of Azazel's sons, at least in this story) first approached him.

In denial, Kurt/Belasco journeyed back to the volcano on Pangea, only to find the real Belasco's body was still there, frozen in ice. The Mar-Vell child told the other X-Men what had happened to Kurt, but apparently they didn't approach him. Kurt/Belasco took up residence in the crumbling city slum where I gathered he became something of a vigilante peacekeeper. Although he remained uncertain of his true identity, he often watched the X-Men from afar. 

That's where they left him, and that's where this story picks up.

And that's all I was able to find out about Belasco. Everything else I needed for my story, I quite shamelessly made up. :)


	6. Chapter 5

For a moment it had all been so clear. She had been there - she had touched him, held his hand, and he had remembered. He had remembered her, and the memories had been real; vibrant: the sun on her snowy hair, so bright against her mocha skin...the sheer power behind her slender form as the lightening she had called flashed through the turbulent skies...her smile, the touch of her hand on his wrist, guiding him as he helped her plant a row of flowers in the rich loam of her garden...

The images had come in a sudden, brilliant flash of clarity, her voice drawing them from him, beckoning him out of the darkness and away from the confusion, anger, and loneliness that had defined his life for so long. For a moment, his heart had been light and he could see...

And then, as quickly as it had come, the clarity had gone, leaving only the painful bitterness of its passing.

Kurt Wagner sighed a sigh so deep and ragged it was almost a sob. He pressed his head back against the cold stones of the wall by the pile of rags and musty cloths that made up his bed, slowly sinking down to crouch on the floor, his tail curling around to hug his knees as he fought against the tears stinging his eyes.

Three days ago, she had come. She had reached out to him—

And then it had all disappeared in a hazy fog of rage. 

It was as though he had blacked out, yet he had still been aware. He had heard her calling to him through the thickening fog, but the answering voice had not been his. It had been the voice of another...the cold, venomous voice of Belasco.

Kurt squeezed his eyes closed, fighting against the urge to lower his head, to sink his fingers in his hair. As long as he didn't look down, he could be himself. As long as he wasn't reminded of what he had become, he could be the man he had been. If he looked at his hand, his boots, if he touched the horns on his forehead or caught a glimpse of his shadow against the stone floor, Belasco would return. 

For now, however, Kurt was in control.

The sight of Ororo unconscious on the roof, just lying there, so completely at his mercy had jarred Kurt free of the fog, pulling him out of the darkness of his own mind. For that moment, the anger, the frustrated bitterness that fueled Belasco's burning hate had fallen away under the force of Kurt's sudden wave of concern for her, giving him the opportunity to carry his former friend and teammate to safety.

He had crouched there, in the darkness of the abandoned cathedral, just watching her as she breathed. He'd had no idea what to say to her, no idea what Belasco had done to make her lose consciousness in the first place. So he had just waited, still and silent as a statue, until she finally opened her crystal eyes...

The undisguised terror that had twisted her expression when she'd looked at him had nearly caused Belasco and all his rage to overwhelm him once again. The fear in her eyes had cut him to the core, even after so much time. 

It would have been easy to just surrender to the encroaching fog, to let himself slip away into the darkness as he had so many times before. But this time, something had been different. This time, Kurt Wagner had fought back.

Ororo's visit had sparked something deep within him, something that had only continued to grow as the days passed. She had given him a reason to hope again. For the first time since discovering the truth of his identity, Kurt found himself truly believing that there was a chance his former friends had not given up on him, that perhaps...perhaps his redemption was possible after all. The brilliant flash of clarity Ororo had bestowed him had left a lingering afterglow in his heart, awakening a ghostly warmth - the warmth of compassion, of belonging, of love; feelings that had lain dormant and buried for so long he had nearly forgotten...

It was the hesitant, gradual reawakening of these feelings that had enabled Kurt to retain control for so long. The rage was still there, lurking at the edges of his psyche, just waiting for the opportunity to flare up once more. 

But for now...for now he could be himself.

Taking a deep breath, Kurt rose to his feet, fixing his golden gaze firmly on the stars shining outside his window.

"My name is Kurt Wagner," he stated, his voice firm and sure, his words colored with the distant memory of a German accent.

"My name is Kurt Wagner!" he shouted out into the darkness of the crumbling city. Clenching his fist, he lifted his chin, his tail lashing behind him as his thin, russet lips stretched into a cold, triumphant smile.

"It is Belasco who is dead."

*******

"This way," Anna whispered through her giggles, her large, orange eyes gleaming brightly in the moonlight.

"Where are we going?" Paul whispered back, laughing himself as she grabbed his scaly arm and pulled him closer.

"Just follow me," she said as she pushed the side door open and dragged him through.

"Won't we get in trouble?" he asked. "Going outside after curfew..."

"We won't leave the grounds," Anna assured him. "Don't tell me you're chickening out all ready."

"No!" Paul said quickly. "No, I just... It would really suck to get expelled after only eight weeks, don't you think?"

Anna rolled her eyes. 

"Honestly," she sneered. "You won't get expelled, believe me. And we won't get caught either."

She stopped their progress under a nearby tree, stepping close and looking deep into his yellow-slitted, reptilian eyes. 

"Now," she said with a wicked smile. "It's time to see if you really trust me. Climb up onto that tree branch."

She pointed to a thick branch just above their heads, then stepped aside to give him room. 

Paul shot her a somewhat nervous glance, chuckling slightly.

"If I'd known going out with you was going to involve so many risks..."

"So it's true then!" Anna exclaimed, angrily placing her hands on her hips. "You really did mean what you said at lunch."

"Anna, I don't even remember what I said at lunch," Paul protested.

"You don't believe I'll catch you, do you," Anna stated. "You actually think I'd let you fall."

"It's not that, Anna, really," Paul tried, taking a step closer to her. "It's just, I'm afraid of heights and—"

"You don't think I can control my powers well enough to catch you," she continued as if he hadn't even spoken. "That's it, isn't it? You don't trust me."

The lizardlike teenager threw up his hands in a helpless gesture of surrender. 

"Fine," he said. "I'll do it, OK? If my suicide is what it'll take to convince you of my utter respect and admiration for your abilities, then that's what I'll do. Here I go. I'm climbing the tree, see?"

Anna scowled. 

"There's no reason to be so sarcastic," she said, watching as he hesitantly scooted out onto the branch.

"OK, I'm up here," he said, his slender, forked tongue anxiously flicking in and out of his mouth. "What do you want me to do now?"

"Stand on the branch with your back to me," Anna instructed, "then let yourself fall."

Paul's laugh was about two octaves too high. 

"Yeah. Right. Let myself fall. Sounds like fun."

"Just do it, Paul," she said impatiently. "I'll make an energy net to catch you."

"Make the net first," Paul said, his voice high and shaky. "Then I'll do it."

"But the whole point is to show you I can get the timing right!" Anna protested.

"Anna, I know you can get the timing right," Paul cried, clinging desperately to the branch with both arms. "I just want to see the net, or else I won't be able to stand up. I wasn't kidding when I told you I'm afraid of heights!"

Anna looked up at him as though she were really seeing him for the first time. Her eyes widened, and her angry, defensive expression softened. 

"You're not kidding, are you," she said. "You really are scared."

"No duh, geniusss," Paul snapped shakily, his flickering tongue making him hiss slightly.

"And you climbed all the way up there just for me?" Anna said, clasping her hands in front of her chest. "Oh, Paul, you really do trust me, don't you!"

"I told you I did, but you wouldn't believe me."

"I'll make you a net right away," she said, cracking her fingers then making an odd, circular gesture in the air. A large, glowing net shot from her hands, hovering just under the tree branch, several feet off the ground.

"OK, now just relax and let yourself go. The net is here to catch you, don't worry."

An anguished voice cried out from above, and Anna nearly lost control of her net.

"Paul, what is it?" she exclaimed. "Are you OK?"

"That wasn't me," Paul gasped out. "Just get me down, OK?!"

"Then who—"

"I don't know, OK!" Paul cried. "Probably someone from the mansion. Please get me down, Anna. Please!"

"OK, Paul," she said, sobering as she returned her concentration to sustaining her glowing energy net. "The net's secure. Just roll off the branch and I'll lower you down."

Paul took several deep breaths, then nodded. 

"OK," he said. "OK, I'm ready. Just promise me you won't tell anyo—"

A sharp crack sounded in the dark. The teens heard a rustle of leaves, and something large and dark plummeted out of the shadows above them to land heavily in the glowing net. Paul and Anna both screamed, the net vanishing as her concentration broke. As the dark shape continued its descent to the grass, Paul lost his balance on the tree branch. 

Lucky for him, the mysterious form broke his fall.

Paul sat up slowly, leaning forward to see what he'd landed on.

"Anna," he whispered, his trembling voice breaking. "Anna, are you ssstill there?"

"Paul?" Anna sounded no better than her boyfriend as she crept closer, her breaths short and loud.

"It'sss a man," Paul hissed nervously, tentatively reaching out to pull the unconscious figure's red cloak away from his face. "He'sss not moving."

"Do you think he's...you know...dead?"

Anna and Paul looked at each other for a long, tense moment, then both students broke out in panicked screams, dashing away from the fallen stranger and back to the mansion as fast as their legs could carry them.

To Be Continued...


	7. Chapter 6

A powerful thrill of fear shocked Charles Xavier out of a restless sleep, overpowering his senses and flooding his mind with thoughts, memories, and emotions that were not his. A tall oak tree overlooking Ororo's garden; a shadowy form falling, its deep red cloak billowing out behind it; a glowing energy net; a rush of panic at the realization that the man who had fallen—a stranger with red skin and horns—was not moving.

Xavier's eyes shot open, his breath coming in short gasps. That face he had just seen - the man with the horns... It was not the face of a stranger.

The old man swallowed, and reached for the intercom switch by his bed. He could have contacted Scott through a direct telepathic link, but this late at night he was most likely asleep. Besides, Scott's wife, Jean, was away at a conference so he wouldn't have to worry about the intercom signal waking her as well.

Flicking the switch, Xavier dragged himself up into a sitting position and leaned his back against the headboard.

"Scott," he said. "Scott, I'm sorry to disturb your sleep but please respond."

There was a brief pause, then Scott's sleep-thickened voice filled the room.

"Professor?" He yawned. "What's the problem?"

"I fear we may have an emergency on our hands," Xavier explained. "Will you please wake Hank and Ororo? And locate Anna Dvorkin and Paul Carter. I would like to have a talk with them."

"Of course, Charles," Scott said, though his tone was wary. "Just what is the nature of this emergency?"

Xavier sighed. 

"I believe Belasco has been stalking the mansion," he said softly. "Anna and Paul had the misfortune of running into him tonight on the grounds."

A muffled hiss that sounded remarkably like a swear came over the intercom, and Xavier frowned.

"Scott," he said sharply, "would you know anything about this?"

Scott sighed deeply. 

"I— You remember Ororo's accident some three nights ago?"

"Yes, of course. She had to wear a neck brace for two days."

"Well, it wasn't an accident." Scott admitted. "It was Belasco. Ororo went to see him that night. I'm not sure, but it's possible that's the reason he's come here now."

Xavier straightened, his lips tightening in anger. 

"Why wasn't I told," he demanded.

"Well, we—"

"Belasco is a cruel, calculating demon, one of the few enemies we X-Men have left!" Xavier snapped. "If you knew about this, you should have stopped her, Scott! You should have known Belasco would see her overtures as a weakness on our part, a weakness he could manipulate! And now he's come here to this school, threatening our students! I can't believe you would be so short-sighted, so—"

"I know!" Scott cut him off. "You're right! I should have stopped her. But I didn't. I couldn't! And you know why as well as I do."

Xavier closed his eyes, unable to quite swallow back the painful lump in his throat. 

"Kurt is dead, Scott," he said at last, his voice hoarse and quiet. "He's not coming back. I know it's hard to accept, but—"

"I know," Scott said. "Belasco can use our hope against us. It's just...it's so unfair, Professor! Why Kurt? He doesn't deserve this."

"No," Xavier agreed softly. "He doesn't. But there's nothing we can do about it. If we accept that, Belasco will no longer hold any power over us. Now, go wake the others - and be sure to keep this quiet. I don't want to start a panic among the students. I'll meet you at the oak tree by Ororo's garden in five minutes. Be prepared. We might have to be rather...aggressive...in our approach."

"Yes, sir," Scott acknowledged. "I understand."

Xavier cut the transmission, then leaned back against the headboard, his shoulders sagging and his head lowered. 

He had known this would happen sooner or later, that Belasco would return. His hatred for the X-Men, and for Xavier in particular, was too deep-seated to lie dormant for long. Xavier just hadn't expected the prospect of seeing him again would hurt this much.

Xavier hoisted himself into his electric wheelchair and headed for the door. Based on the impressions he'd gathered from the terrified students, he presumed Belasco was unconscious. If they worked fast, they could have him securely contained in the sub-basement before dawn. Then...

Then, the demon's reactions would determine their next move.

*******

The instant she got Scott's call, Ororo pulled on her long robe and called up a wind to lift her from her balcony window, determined to reach Kurt first. She arrived at the oak tree and knelt by the fallen man's side, quickly brushing the blood-red cloak aside and taking his wrist, feeling for a pulse. 

After a breathless moment, she found one. It was weak, but steady.

Ororo closed her eyes, running a hand through her silvery hair as a confusing swell of emotions washed over her. Was it her fault he was lying there? What had happened to him? Why had he come?

"Kurt?" she whispered into his pointed ear, glancing up warily to keep track of the others' progress across the lawn. "Kurt, can you hear me?"

There was no response. Biting her lip, Ororo took his clawed, red hand in hers, noting his fingers were still tied together in twos. The bandages were filthy, blackened and frayed at the edges and covered with stains, and his fingers seemed swollen, the bandages probably affecting his circulation. Gently, she started to undo the knots...

His eyes shot open, glowing dark gold in the nighttime dimness. Ororo gasped and jumped into a defensive crouch, but he cried out in pain, pressing his hand to his chest and curling himself up into a protective ball on the grass.

"Ach, Gott," he gasped, his faintly accented voice hoarse and strained. "It hurts. Ach, Gott, Ororo, it hurts!"

Ororo stared, her heart pounding in her chest, barely daring to believe... Belasco had tricked them so many times in the past...

"Kurt?" she whispered. "Kurt, is that you, my friend?"

"Storm!" Scott yelled, running up beside her with Hank and the Professor close behind. "What's wrong with you? Get away from him!"

"Oh, my stars and garters," Hank gasped, staring wide-eyed at the sight before him. "We must get him to the medbay," the doctor said, shooting Xavier a look that dared the old man to object. "You can question him when he's in good enough shape to answer, but until then this man is in obvious pain and it is our duty to provide assistance. Scott," he ordered, crouching down beside the demon, "help me carry him inside."

Before Scott could protest, the demon lurched up and staggered to his feet, cradling his one arm against his chest as he backed menacingly into the shadows under the tree.

"Kurt," Ororo said, trying to keep her voice as gentle as possible, "they're only trying to—"

"No," the demon growled, baring his sharp fangs. His glowing eyes burned with a dark flame as he lashed his spaded tail back and forth like a whip.

"Don't you touch me," he snarled at Scott, his russet features tight with pain. "Don't any of you dare touch me!"

"Fine then," Scott snapped back, his own visor glowing dangerously. "If you don't want our help, then go away. Go back to that slum you came from, and leave us alone."

The demon glared at him for a moment, his pointed teeth gleaming in the moonlight. Then, to the surprise of all four X-Men, he began to laugh. It was a low, angry sound, completely devoid of humor. 

Scott and the others found they were backing away despite themselves.

The demon's laughter grew louder, swelling until it began to sound slightly deranged. Then, as suddenly and as unexpectedly as it had begun, it stopped. Storm, Cyclops, Beast, and Xavier shared uncomfortable looks as the demon stepped forward, a terrifying figure despite the awkward way he held his arm.

"Fool!" he spat, his narrow lips curling. "I was such a fool. To think it would be so simple, to...to think..."

He tilted his head back, the bone-chilling laughter starting up again. But this time, it was different. This time, the maniacal cackle sounded choked, more like an anguished sob than a laugh. The demon swayed on his feet, the laughter fading as he started to fall. 

Without thinking, Hank reached out a powerful, blue-furred arm and caught the slender man before he hit the grass.

"Oh my," the large mutant said, looking down at the demon's narrow face. "I do believe he's fainted."

Xavier closed his eyes, reaching out with his mind to make sure that Hank's diagnosis was correct and that the demon wasn't merely feigning unconsciousness.

"Hank is right," Xavier said, opening his eyes once more. "Get him down to the medbay and give him whatever treatment he requires. Remove whatever weapons he may be carrying and put up a forcefield around his bed. I want to be notified the moment he regains consciousness."

Hank nodded, scooping the unconscious Belasco into his thick, furry arms and loping his way back to the mansion. 

Scott stared after them for a moment, then turned to the Professor.

"What about the kids?" he asked. "Anna and Paul. I told them to wait for you in the foyer."

Xavier sighed. 

"I'll talk to them, Scott," he said. "You go down to the medbay. Make certain Belasco is safely contained. It's not that I don't trust Hank, but sometimes he gets so wrapped up in treating the patient..."

"That he forgets the danger he can pose, I know," Scott said, already turning to follow Hank. "I'll see to it."

"Good," Xavier said. Then, he turned to Ororo. "Storm, I'd like you to—"

"Charles," Ororo interrupted, her expression firm. "I'm going down to the medbay as well. I, too, want to be there when Kurt wakes up."

"Ororo," Xavier said, his cultured voice just a shade short of condescending. "You know, even better than I, that the man we just encountered is not the Kurt Wagner we knew—"

"That goes without saying," Ororo snapped, her crystal eyes clouding angrily as her silvery hair began to rise from her shoulders. "And he never will be again, not after all he's been through. But he is still Kurt Wagner, nonetheless. And despite everything, I refuse to give up on him. He's been abandoned too many times by the people he's cared about most. By people who should have cared for him! I'm not about to add my name to the list."

"Storm," Xavier said sternly, clenching his fist in frustration as she summoned a wind to lift her into the air. "Storm!"

But his shouts were futile. Ororo had already gone, leaving him alone to wheel his way back to the mansion.

To Be Continued...


	8. Chapter 7

Ororo stood in the cavernous medbay just outside the doorway to Hank's narrow, adjoining laboratory. The large, furry mutant had been working steadily for the past four hours, drawing samples and running tests to discover, not only the reason his patient had lost consciousness on the lawn, but also the truth of his identity.

She leaned her back against the cool, metallic wall and closed her eyes, rubbing her temples in slow, calming circles. Outside, the sun had already risen, chasing the nighttime chill from the air and evaporating the dewdrops that had collected on the grass. Birds were singing in the trees, squirrels were chattering, insects were humming and buzzing. 

But, Ororo couldn't hear them. Down there, in that subbasement cave, she heard only the mechanical hum of the ventilation system, Hank's distracted muttering and humming in the next room, the soft clack of Scott's shoes as he paced beside their prisoner's bed with slow, deliberate steps. And, cutting through it all, the steady, impersonal beeps and hisses from the machines monitoring the unconscious man she did not doubt was Kurt Wagner...even if everyone else seemed to.

Ororo clenched her fists by her sides, squeezing her eyes closed even tighter and just concentrating on controlling her breathing. In through her nose, out through her mouth... In through her nose...

She had to keep calm, to keep Scott from seeing her rising anxiety, giving him an excuse to send her away... But, she'd been stuck underground for some four hours now, hemmed in by metal walls and breathing sterile, recycled air; cold, artificial lighting flickering in her eyes, reflecting in the smooth, polished floor... The mechanical bleeps and whirs were so loud, so repetitive, so utterly maddening!

She opened her eyes wide and turned to the wall, trying to picture herself up on the roof of the mansion, the breeze lifting her snowy hair as she stared out toward the hazy horizon. But, her heart was being kneaded like clay in her chest, the space around her was shrinking, cutting off her air—

She needed to get out of there, if only for a moment. She needed to feel the sun on her face, the breeze... This place was too sterile, too cold. It was an airless box, a prison, a tomb—

"Storm?"

Ororo gave a violent start, turning quickly to face the man who had spoken.

"Oh, Scott!" she gasped with a rather shaky laugh, bringing a hand to her chest as she felt her heartbeat begin to slow. "I'm sorry, I was just... You startled me, that's all."

The slight, downward twist to Scott's lips said more than any words. 

Ororo scowled, and strode to Kurt's bedside...or, as close as she could get with the security forcefield activated. It really galled her to see Kurt kept under armed guard by his own friends. The poor man was unconscious and he was in pain. He was strapped to the bed and hooked up to machines! Wasn't that enough?

"Hey, come on, 'Ro," Scott said, walking over to join her. "I know this is hard for you...being down here... If you want to go outside for a while, get some air..."

"I'm fine, Scott," Ororo stated firmly. 

Scott's jaw tightened.

"Look, I'm not the bad guy here," he said. "And neither is Hank. You don't have to hang around watching us, especially if it's going to aggravate your claustrophobia." 

"By the Goddess, Scott!" Ororo exclaimed. "I told you I'm fine, and I meant it!"

Scott looked a little hurt, but he covered it well, stepping back to give her some space. 

Ororo sighed, and brushed some loose hair back behind her ear.

"I'm not leaving him," she insisted, her voice softer this time but no less firm. "I won't."

Scott regarded her for a long moment, his expression unreadable behind his visor. Then, slowly, he came up beside her and followed her gaze down to Belasco's russet face. 

Even with the oxygen tube running over Belasco's upper lip and tucked under his chin, now that he could see the demon's features relaxed and calm, Scott had to admit there was a marked resemblance to Kurt. It wasn't exact, but that might have been because of the different skin color, or possibly the lack of fur...

"OK, 'Ro," he said, his throat feeling oddly tight. "You really are convinced it's him, aren't you."

"I am," she answered softly, a slight frown creasing her face as she noted how swollen and purple Kurt's fingers had become. Ororo longed to touch him, to try to bring him some comfort with her presence, but with that forcefield in the way...

"I know he's...unbalanced," she said, running a hand agitatedly through her snowy hair. "And, I know he's a danger to all of us as he is right now. But I also know he wants our help, Scott. You didn't hear him under that tree. He called out to me. The look in his eyes almost broke my heart..."

Scott turned to face her, his expression dark. 

"Belasco is a master of emotional manipulation," he said. "I wouldn't put anything past him if he thought it would suit his purpose. Don't forget, Ororo...he's already attacked you once."

Ororo spun on him, her blue eyes cold in her mocha face. 

"Why are you so eager to just write Kurt off like this?" she snapped. "You and Charles both! Good and evil aren't always as clear cut as dark and light, night and day!"

She gestured to the man in the bed.

"Belasco is our enemy, yes," she said. "So, we must take the proper precautions to protect ourselves. Granted! But Belasco isn't real, Scott. What is real is the fact that 'someone' has physically altered and emotionally manipulated our friend to the point where he 'believes' he is Belasco. That doesn't make him our enemy, Scott. That makes him a victim. And, it is our duty to help him."

"I'm not saying that we shouldn't!" Scott retorted, his visor beginning to glow. "And I'm not 'writing Kurt off' as you say. He was my friend too, Ororo. You're not the only one hurt by all this."

"No," Ororo acknowledged. "But I am the only one who speaks of Kurt in the present tense."

Scott straightened, taken aback. 

Ororo just glared.

"Contrary to what we were led to believe, Kurt Wagner is not dead, Scott," she said. "He's right here, lying on this bed. You and Charles just choose not to see him."

Scott tightened his jaw. 

"Look, 'Ro," he said, forcing himself to remain calm. "I believe you, OK? I'm on your side in this, whether you believe me or not. It's just that, I have to look at this situation from both sides of the equation. I can't afford to let my guard down. Even Charles believes—"

"Charles is a telepath," Ororo interrupted with a scowl. "He knows the truth. He's just unwilling to acknowledge his own mistakes. If he hadn't sent Kurt's team out to—"

"Where is Dr. McCoy?" a deep, commanding voice rang out from the hall, causing both Scott and Ororo to jump in surprise. "I demand to know why I was not notified of this new development! Where is Charles?!"

Scott winced, closing his eyes behind his visor and releasing a low groan. Ororo mirrored his pained expression as Erik Lehnsherr stormed into the medbay, his long cape billowing out behind him.

"So, this is the intruder that was spying on us?" the tall man sneered, leaning over the bed. He frowned when he caught sight of the prisoner's swollen, purple fingers.

"What happened to his hand?" he demanded, spinning on Scott and Ororo as though the unconscious man's injuries were somehow their fault.

"That's what Hank's busy trying to find out," Scott snapped back, crossing his arms over his chest. "If you want to know more, you're just going to have to wait here for his findings, like the rest of us."

"Nonsense," Erik snarled, striding across the room to Hank's lab. "I know my way around a laboratory. I'll just—"

"You'll just calm down before you wake the entire mansion," Charles Xavier's even, cultured voice spoke from behind them. The three mutants turned as the old man wheeled into the room, his expression grim.

"Yes, Erik, as I tried to tell you before you stormed off and broke the mental link, this is the intruder," Xavier explained, still in that calm, even tone. 

Erik scowled. 

Xavier ignored him, and went on.

"His name is Belasco and he has been an enemy of the X-Men for many years. The reason you were not told he was here immediately is because the situation was not urgent enough to wake you for. As you can see, the demon is unconscious and safely contained." 

He frowned then, turning his sharp gaze to Scott.

"Except for one thing. Scott, did I or did I not expressly tell you to activate a forcefield around his bed?"

"What? But I—"

"Wait, that's me, I turned it off just now," Hank called from his lab, charging though the door with a needle and vial and leaning over the medicot's metal railing to put them to use. "I need to draw a few more samples before my analysis is complete, and I can't do that through a forcefield, you know. I have come up with several intriguing preliminary findings, however, if any of you care to hear them." Finished with the needle, he made a beckoning gesture with his long, bulky arm as he vanished back into his laboratory. A moment later, the forcefield flicked back to life. "Just in here, please."

"Scott," Xavier said, "you stand by the door and keep an eye on Belasco, just in case. I'll be monitoring him as well." He tapped his temple with a knowing look.

Scott nodded, suppressing a sigh. 

"I understand, Professor," he said, taking up his position by the door. At least he could still hear Hank's explanation, even if he couldn't see his work. And, it helped that Ororo gave his arm a light, sisterly squeeze as she passed by.

"Here," Hank said, gesturing to his microscope. "Take a look in there and tell me what you see."

Erik cast a glare at his companions, then strode forward to take the first look. He blinked, then looked again, his hard expression softening to one of amazed bafflement.

"But, that's impossible," he stated, turning to Hank. "These cells are dividing at an alarming rate. It's as if they're showing...almost morphagenic properties! Where are they from?"

"Believe it or not," Hank said, "they were extracted from the patient's hand."

"What?" 

Erik furrowed his brow, stepping back to allow Ororo a look.

"I'm sorry," Ororo said, looking up from the slide of dividing cells, "but I'm afraid I don't understand. What's wrong with him? What do you mean by 'morphagenic properties'?

"In basic terms," Hank explained, "it means his genetic structure is unstable, and in a state of flux. Essentially, these cells appear to be in the initial stages of 'morphing' from one form to another."

Ororo shook her head in disbelief. 

"But that can't be right," she said. "I thought only shapeshifters like Mystique could alter their cells like that." 

"That's true, for the most part," Hank said, taking up a lecturing position at the opposite side of his lab table. "But this patient has undergone extensive genetic manipulation, and I doubt very strongly the resulting physical changes were consciously made. He obviously has no conscious control over what is happening to his hand right now."

"What is happening to his hand, Hank?" Xavier prompted, his brow furrowed.

"Well, these alterations are in their earliest stages, but I would guess that the bone, muscle, and skin of his first and second fingers are beginning to merge into one digit. The third and fourth digits are likely to follow until his five fingers have become three."

Ororo let out a short, involuntary gasp. 

Hank shot her a sympathetic look. 

"Unfortunately for our patient," he told her, "the morphagenic process is extremely slow and, I'm afraid, excruciatingly painful. But this is mainly because it is not a natural process, as it would be for a true shapeshifter. You see," he went on, "somehow, someone has manipulated a dormant morphagenic X-gene in the patient's mitochondrial DNA. This particular gene can only be inherited from the individual's mother. Shapeshifters, particularly female shapeshifters, are quite rare in the mutant population and, as we all know, Mystique was Kurt Wagner's biological mother."

He shot both Charles and Ororo a pointed look. 

"I'm still running the full DNA analysis to compare with Kurt's old medi-records, but if there was any doubt before that this man is indeed our Kurt, I believe these singular findings have certainly removed it."

Ororo looked down at Charles, but the old man seemed lost in his own thoughts, a deep frown creasing his face. 

She turned away from him and said, "What I would like to know is 'why'. Why would anyone do something like this to Kurt? Kidnap him, manipulate his genes, brainwash him into thinking he's Belasco! What could possibly have been the motive?"

Hank shook his furry head and sighed. 

"I don't know, Ororo. But I do know whoever did this to him possesses scientific knowledge far in advance of our own. Unfortunately, that means I have no idea how they did it and even less how to reverse it."

"What was it that triggered the manipulated gene to start working now?" Scott asked from the doorway, never taking his eyes from their unmoving prisoner.

"I would have to guess extreme emotional stress," Hank responded. "But, just in case you're wondering, none of this has anything to do with why he fainted on the lawn."

The others waited for a beat, then Erik rolled his eyes. 

"Are you going to tell us why he fainted, or are we going to have to drag it out of you?" he asked. 

Hank shot him a dark look.

"Kurt - and I use that name because that is who I believe my findings prove the man in the medbay to be," he elaborated with a significant glance at Xavier, "Kurt fainted because he hadn't eaten a thing in days. He was also severely dehydrated. I've started an IV drip, but once he regains consciousness I want to start him out on some soup, and then maybe some solid food in the evening if he's feeling any better. I don't dare imagine what he's been living on this past year in that slum of his."

Xavier nodded, his expression stern. 

"He can have his soup in here," he said, "but if he does start to feel better, I want him moved out of the medbay and into a secure holding cell. No matter his true identity, as long as he poses a danger to the population of this school, he will be under armed guard at all times. I'm sorry if this sounds harsh," he continued with a pointed look at Ororo. "But I believe such measures are necessary. I'm not taking any chances with the students."

"I agree," Erik said with a short nod. "The safety of the students is our first priority. After all, if this man were to—"

A brief, strangled cry sounded from the other room, almost like the start of a scream. Hank brought down the forcefield and the four mutants rushed out of the lab to join Scott by Kurt's bedside.

"His eyes just shot open," Scott explained as the others came up beside him. "There wasn't any warning."

Hank put his thick, furry finger against the red man's neck, then shook his head with a frown.

"I was afraid of this," he said. "It seems to be a side effect of the merry havoc that mutagenic X-gene is playing with his system. His pulse is racing and his metabolism is rising exponentially. The tranquilizers I gave him should have lasted twice as long as this."

"What can you do for him?" Ororo asked, looking down at the thrashing, moaning Kurt with deep concern.

Kurt turned his head to look at her, his golden eyes wide and bright with fever and pain.

"Beatrice," he whispered hoarsely, reaching out to grab her wrist with his tail. Ororo gasped slightly as the red, spaded tip wrapped tightly around her arm. "Avete le mie più profonde scuse, Beatrice. Tu sei il mio cuore. Tu mi credi? Mie scuse!"

"What is he saying?" Ororo asked, a frantic note entering her voice as he started to sob, the hot tears trickling down his russet cheeks onto his pillow.

"I think it's Italian," Scott observed.

"Why would Wagner be speaking in Italian?" Erik asked, furrowing his brow. "I always thought he was German."

"He is," Xavier said. "But Belasco is not."

At the sound of Xavier's deep, cultured voice, Kurt tried to sit up, straining against his restraints, his tail lashing wildly.

"Padre?" he exclaimed, his golden eyes blazing with fury and streaming tears. "Perche, Padre? Perche Beatrice!"

"Should I raise the forcefield?" Scott asked, rushing over to the control station on the far wall.

"No," Xavier responded, catching and holding Kurt's fevered eyes with his own. There was something there, something behind the turmoil and the madness, beyond the confusion and the pain. He could almost see it, the memory of a sunny, spring day, crowds of people in colorful clothing walking up and down narrow, cobbled streets...

The images were lost as Kurt tore his eyes away from Xavier's, turning instead to Scott and Hank. 

"Io non sono un demonio," he said, his voice weak and trembling. He seemed to be fading fast, his eyes already drooping with exhaustion as he fell back against his pillow. "Azazel! Io non sono un demonio!"

"Azazel?" Erik repeated, confused. "Who or what is that?"

Scott narrowed his eyes behind his visor. 

"Isn't Azazel—?" he began.

"Kurt's biological father, yes," Xavier finished for him.

"Do you think he has anything to do with all this?" Ororo asked, keeping her eyes firmly on Kurt as he slowly drifted back into restless unconsciousness.

"If my suspicions are correct, Azazel has a great deal to do with this," Xavier said, wheeling up closer to Kurt's bedside and reaching out to place his hand against his horned forehead. "Unfortunately, the only answers are locked up inside Kurt's head. And with the chaotic state his mind is in, I don't think even he knows how to find them."

"What are you going to do?" Hank asked, watching Xavier smooth Kurt's wavy hair until the red-skinned man stopped his restless thrashing and his breathing began to slow.

"I'm going to scan his mind," the old man said, his voice soft and calm. "It should only take a moment. I won't go deep. But if this works..."

He trailed off, closing his eyes as he established a telepathic link with the unconscious Kurt Wagner.

To Be Continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> You have my most profound apologies, Beatrice. You are my heart. Do you believe me? I am so sorry!  
> Father? Why, Father? Why Beatrice?  
> I am not a demon. Azazel! I am not a demon!
> 
> Any errors with the Italian or German in this story are all mine. If anyone has a better translation, just let me know! :)


	9. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SCENES OF VIOLENCE AND CHARACTER DEATH. VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

Charles Xavier had long been renowned as the world's foremost telepath. Needless to say, he was familiar with the workings of individual minds and how to safely navigate his way through their myriad thoughts, desires, and memories without losing his own identity and purpose. 

But, even with all his vast knowledge and experience, Xavier found he was unable to shield his psyche from the raging chaos that had overtaken Kurt's mind.

Noise, light, color...they whirled around and through him like shapeless ghosts, stealing his breath, his focus, rushing by him in raging gusts that left him reeling and off balance. Flashes, faces, spinning—laughing, screaming, gentle, terrified, cold, cruel, furious, anguished, shining with love... Each face carried a memory, powerful sensations of loss, sorrow, guilt...

Xavier gasped and struggled, fighting to pull himself out of the crushing throng, to rise above the swirling colors. Voices came from nowhere and everywhere, a cacophony of languages, songs... And still, the screaming specters pummeled him, laughing, knocking him back, then forward, then to the side, pressing tight against him then vanishing into nothingness as, suddenly, he felt himself falling...

Whirling landscapes and buildings, mountains and fire and blackness, dank dungeons, bustling cities, quiet rooms. The light of the sun and stars, the chill of the pale moon, incredible heat and biting cold assaulted his senses, twirling him dizzily like a leaf in a hurricane until he had lost all sense of direction.

Disembodied, terrified, Xavier curled his psychic self into a protective ball, squeezing his arms against his ears as he laced his fingers tightly behind his bald head. A strange prickling, tingling sensation crept along the edges of his mind, like a million tiny insects crawling through his fracturing mental shields, forcing them wider, wider... Xavier's eyes flew open in horror, his mouth stretching until the delicate skin of his lips nearly broke with the strain of his silent scream. He was lost, alone; trapped in the mind of a madman with no body to ground him, no thread to lead him back out of this terrible, fragmented labyrinth. And still he fell, his shields crumbling away, his sense of identity growing weaker as Xavier realized he truly could lose himself...forever...

A whisper through the shadows...prodding him to deepen the link...to follow the trail of pain... 

All pretense of rational thought left him. Without any consideration for the potential danger to himself or to Kurt, Xavier instinctively gave in to the whispers, the need to deepen the mental link until he felt his host's body pulsing around him. The heartbeat was fast but steady, the breathing slightly labored but regular. There was pain also, astonishingly intense—a burning, biting, stinging ache—but it seemed distant, muted by the painkillers Hank had administered.

Xavier forced the host body to fill its lungs, to release a deep, shaky sigh. Now he had a body to steady him, the creeping tingle of encroaching madness quickly faded, allowing Xavier to come back to himself; to recall his identity and his purpose.

"Kurt's hand," he whispered, following the physical pain to its source. "The genetic manipulation. I was hoping to find out who was responsible. I was trying to discover what had triggered that change in Kurt's hand."

Xavier smiled to himself, relieved how quickly he seemed to be recovering from his near-fatal experience. But, his shields were weak, and his weren't the only thoughts he could hear. The subconscious mind is a busy place, crowded with thoughts, memories, dreams... This voice seemed to be calling, beckoning him specifically, but Xavier knew that was just his imagination...

The voice he heard was soft and deep; the patient voice of a teacher. It spoke in German with a subtle, foreign inflection Xavier could not quite place. He had never heard this voice before, and yet he knew at once who it belonged to. It was the voice of Sabu, Kurt's childhood mentor and the closest thing he'd had to a father while growing up.

Xavier closed his eyes and concentrated on the soft voice, only one among dozens of others chatting and singing and crying and laughing. He followed the voice like a guiding light, carefully loosening his link with his host's body as he moved deeper and deeper into his unconscious mind.

The light came from a large, multicolored tent hung with brilliant flags. Similarly colorful posters invited spectators in three languages to come see the Great Sabu perform his death-defying acrobatic feats without a net. 

Xavier tilted his head slightly, regarding the cloaked man on the posters with some curiosity. He stood in a dramatic pose, tall, lean, and dark with intense, coal-black eyes and wavy hair to match. His neat, pointed goatee and mustache lent him an eerie, sinister air. Looking at the drawing, Xavier was reminded of an illustration he had once seen in a book of fairy tales; an illustration of an evil sorcerer.

The muffled voice came from within the tent. Xavier pushed the heavy tent-flap aside and walked into the enormous, popcorn-scented space beyond. 

A short, burly man was sweeping litter out from under the stands. He gave Xavier a suspicious look, then nodded him over to the center ring. Xavier nodded back, making his way to where the burly man had indicated. There, an even shorter, hunchbacked man was examining the safety net with the eyes of a concerned professional. He glanced up to the small, square platform high above, and Xavier followed his gaze.

Two shadowy figures crouched there, one large, the other small. A trapeze was hooked to the support pole within easy reach of the two figures. Another hung still and motionless over the net from the darkness at the very top of the tent.

It took Xavier a moment to recognize the larger figure as the man he had seen on the posters outside. Out of costume, the Great Sabu was far from sinister. His shiny hair was tousled and his intense eyes kind as he looked down at his much younger companion; a small boy, perhaps three or four years old...

"Don't worry," Sabu said in his deep, patient voice. "The net is here to catch you. Just remember what I taught you and keep your mind on the task ahead. There is nothing to fear, my child. Once you find the courage to take this first leap, I know you will make us all proud."

"And then I can fly?" the dark little boy asked with a slight, childish lisp, flashing his large, white teeth in a broad, excited smile. "Like Margali said?"

Sabu laughed, a warm, affectionate sound. 

"It is very like flight," he said. "But it is more a feeling of freedom, of liberation. You will no longer be bound to the ground; you will become a creature of the air, of grace, and of beauty. There is no feeling to compare, you will see. Now, why don't you give it a try, yes?"

The small boy rose to his feet, his golden eyes wide and glowing. But, as he carefully unhooked the large trapeze, his short, stubby tail wrapped itself nervously around his mentor's arm. 

Sabu smiled, then gently unwrapped it.

"I think you'll be needing this, don't you?" he said.

"That's mine," the boy announced, pulling his spaded, indigo tail from his mentor's hand and lashing it back and forth a few times. Drawing in a deep breath, he took hold of the trapeze with both three-fingered hands.

"Sabu?" he said, looking to his mentor. But, Sabu was no longer there.

Xavier gasped, suddenly realizing he now stood where Sabu had been, high, high, high above the ground. He sat down at once, his fingers curling tightly around the edge of the platform.

"Oh, Professor!"

Xavier looked up to see Kurt Wagner grinning down at him, no longer a child but a young man. Xavier stared despite himself. Kurt looked just as he had when he and Xavier first met, long ago, when the talented acrobat had been little more than nineteen years old...

"What are you doing here?" the young man said. "Have you come to see my last performance?"

"Oh...erm...yes," Xavier said, keeping his eyes on Kurt's face to avoid looking down. "Yes indeed."

"Das ist wunderbar!" Kurt beamed. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate this, Professor. Sabu came all the way from Russia just for this show, did you know? He is going to be my partner."

Kurt blinked a few times, lowering his head as his smile took on a melancholy tinge. 

"They're all... They're all really sorry that I'm going. I wish I didn't have to."

He clenched his fist, his golden eyes glowing angrily as he said, "But there is no way the Incredible Nightcrawler will ever become a part of that verdammten Amerikaner's freak show! Jardine may have bought our circus with his Texas millions, but he doesn't own me. And that's why Amanda and I are going away, right after this performance. Who knows...perhaps we can start our own circus, ja? In America, no less."

"Perhaps," Xavier echoed, though his attention was no longer on Kurt. A movement had caught his eye, a flash of red... He scanned the shadows, searching for the malevolent form he knew to be there.

There! Two glowing, yellow eyes peering from the dimness at the top of the tent. Squinting, Xavier could just make out the cloaked intruder's silhouette, his long, spaded tail wrapped around the sturdy ropes and wires that held the second trapeze securely in place. The sinister figure grinned straight at him, but before he could warn Kurt, there was a flash of steel and Xavier's world dissolved into blinding, white light.

A thousand cheers assaulted his ears...a band, playing far below... 

Xavier cautiously opened his eyes, to find himself standing in mid-air at the exact level of the trapeze. The stands were filled to capacity, the excited spectators overflowing into the aisles and almost out of the tent as they craned their necks to get their last look at the Nightcrawler's act. 

An act to be performed without a net.

Kurt stood on the platform with Sabu, the two men smiling as they shared a warm embrace. The older man's hair was longer now, grayer, as was his beard, but his eyes...his eyes were just the same.

The spotlight turned on the two acrobats. Gradually, crowd hushed and the dramatic drum roll began.

Sabu clapped Kurt heartily on the back, then broke their embrace and raised a hand to the crowd. The seasoned acrobat grasped his trapeze, watching intently as a man standing on the far platform...Sabu's son, Chester...threw the second trapeze out to swing freely through the air. 

Timing his movements carefully, Sabu climbed up onto the second rung of the ladder running through the center of his own platform and jumped off, building momentum as he swung until he released the bar and curled his legs in a perfect double aerial somersault before catching hold of the second trapeze and gracefully pulling himself up into a sitting position.

As the crowd burst into applause, Kurt grabbed the swinging trapeze and climbed up to the third rung of the ladder, watching carefully while Sabu twined his legs around the ropes of his own trapeze and let go of the bar to hang upside down with his arms outstretched, ready to catch his star pupil. He smiled at Kurt, a proud twinkle in his dark eyes as he watched him prepare for the jump—

Sabu's trapeze gave a shuddering lurch, twisting dangerously as he swung through the air. He tried to reach up for the bar, to steady himself, but the trapeze lurched again, more violently this time. 

A loud SNAP, and then Sabu was falling, crying out as he tumbled through the air toward the hard ground far below.

"NO!" Kurt screamed, his young voice breaking as he teleported instantly to his mentor's side. 

But...too late. Sabu landed with a horrible, sickening sound, his body twitching as it bounced with the impact, then skidded to a stop through the sawdust-littered ground. Kurt fell to his knees beside him, shaking all over as he screamed in horror and denial, tears streaming from his golden eyes. He touched his mentor's shoulder, Sabu's blood staining his furry, blue hand...and his eyes widened in a horror of a completely different kind.

Everything froze, the surrounding world lurching to a halt as Kurt stared at his hand. 

Xavier found himself suddenly at his side, watching his numb expression as the young man shook his head weakly in mute denial. The red stain was spreading, creeping from his palm to his fingers; five red, taloned fingers...

Kurt blinked, flexing each finger in turn, unable to believe that they were his.

"Nein," he whispered, his trembling voice barely audible even to Xavier. "Nein, this is not right. This can not be right!"

The red was spreading up his arm now, his short, fuzz-like fur falling away as a sudden, chill wind began to blow. It rustled through Sabu's wavy hair, changing the course of the small trickle of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth, down his pale cheek...

"No! It is not possible!" Kurt screamed, leaping to his feet as they too began to change. A pair of blood-red leather boots appeared below a sweeping, russet cloak as the young man backed away from his mentor's still form. "Not another death, Belasco, bitte! Not another friend!"

He turned away in anguish, unable to face Sabu any longer. His long cloak swirled behind him as he pressed his one hand to his streaming eyes, his shoulders shaking with violent sobs. 

When he spoke again, his voice was different than it had been before. It had grown deeper, harsher, his formerly pronounced accent little more than a faint inflection.

"How can this be my fault!" he snarled. "I did not kill Sabu! I loved him! I loved him!"

Xavier stared at the distraught demon before him, not quite sure what to do. The transformation was complete now, all the way to his sharp horns and crimson hair. Yet somehow, Xavier could still see Kurt behind the demon's yellow eyes, as a faint shadow softening Belasco's hard features. 

It was to him that Xavier finally spoke.

"Kurt," he said softly, inching closer to the sobbing demon until he stood at the periphery of his line of sight. 

The russet-skinned man turned on him, his golden eyes glowing dangerously despite his tears.

"Charles," he hissed with a sneer. "What are you doing here? No, wait. Don't tell me. You've come to offer your assistance? Your sympathy perhaps? Or maybe you've just come to try to convince yourself that I am, indeed, Kurt Wagner."

"Is that who you believe yourself to be?" Xavier asked in the same calm tone he'd used before, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the demon's face. 

The demon scowled angrily, his sharp fangs gleaming in a way that made Xavier feel distinctly uncomfortable.

"Get out of here," he growled. "Leave me alone!"

"I don't think that's what you really want," Xavier said. "You want answers. Answers only I can help you find."

The demon's eyes widened, then he snarled, his one hand reaching for the hilt of his sword.

"You smug, sanctimonious bastard!" he roared, his eyes flashing with hatred. "Your clever little mind games won't work on me. Not anymore. So, take your know-it-all speeches and your holier-than-thou attitude and get out of my head! I don't need you, and I do not want your help."

"But you do, Kurt," Xavier said gently, taking a half step closer to the fuming demon. "Otherwise, why would you have come back to the mansion after all this time? What could you possibly have been looking for, if not yourself?"

The demon stared at him for a long moment, his expression hard and unreadable. Then, he spun on his heel, his cape billowing out behind him as he strode off into the growing blackness.

"Kurt!" Xavier called after him, stretching out an arm as though that would halt his progress. "Kurt, I don't want to trick you! I don't want to hurt you or use you or trap you. I came here to find out the truth about what happened to you. I believe the answers are here somewhere, but you and I both know that neither of us will be able to find them alone."

Kurt's angry stride didn't break, but Xavier knew he had heard him. He sighed, his heart aching as he tried one final time to reach his former friend before he disappeared entirely.

"Kurt," he said, his voice soft and sincere. "I—I realize that I've used you in the past, and there is no excuse for that. I know there have been times when I abused your trust and your love. I know you have no reason to trust me now, and I'm not asking you to forgive me for what I've done. But, I care about you, Kurt, and I do want to help you. You can't know how much it hurts me to see you in such pain—"

"How much it hurts 'you'?" Kurt repeated incredulously, stopping in his tracks and turning to face the Professor once more. "How much it hurts YOU?" 

He laughed; a cold, angry sound, his long tail lashing behind him as he spoke.

"You have no idea what true pain is, my dear Professor," he sneered darkly. "You know," he said, a thoughtful tone to his voice, "you are one of the most selfish, self-centered creatures I have ever met, and I have met many. And, you are right. I have no reason to trust you. You are an unwelcome intruder into my private thoughts, Charles, and - for the record - the intrusion is not appreciated."

"I understand that," Xavier said, raising his eyes to meet Kurt's. "And I will leave if that is what you truly wish. But I will not abandon you. Your struggle is my struggle, Kurt. You don't have to fight Belasco alone."

Kurt blinked for a moment, caught off guard by the Professor's sincere words. But, his scowl quickly returned. 

"Belasco may be your enemy," he snarled, "but he is my problem and his actions are my responsibility."

"Granted," Charles said, taking a few steps closer to the malevolent figure glaring at him through the shadows. "But how did he come to be your problem, Kurt? Why should you have to carry the guilt of his actions in your heart?"

"Because..."

Kurt turned his head, closing his glowing eyes in a futile attempt to block out the Professor's presence. 

"I wasn't strong enough to stop him," he whispered through a tight throat. "I just lay there in the dimness of my own mind and let him take over."

He frowned, his brow furrowing in self-loathing, mingled with strong defiance. 

"But, not anymore..."

He opened his eyes and strode forward, closing the distance between himself and the Professor.

"I will not be manipulated again," he growled. "Not by you, not by Belasco, not by anyone. While it is true that I do not know how this happened to me, I do know that this body is mine, and I mean to have it back just as it was."

"And I am offering to help you do that," Xavier said, letting the larger man see the truth in his eyes. "It is clear that we both want the same thing, Kurt. But, to accomplish anything, we are going to have to work together."

Kurt narrowed his eyes at Xavier, his expression suspicious, yet lacking the cold animosity of before.

"I will consider it, Professor," he said at last. "Now, leave me. And I warn you, the next time you enter my mind without my consent, I will not pull you out of the midden mire. Belasco is easily awoken, and I am not ready to face him quite yet."

"The midden mire?" Xavier repeated, confused. Then he remembered the chaos that had met him when he first linked with Kurt's mind, dragging him down until he nearly lost himself to the swirling madness. 

His eyes widened as he looked up at the russet-skinned demon, seeing him in a new light.

"You saved my life."

Kurt looked at him, expressionless. 

"I did."

Xavier's lips twitched into a small smile. 

"Thank you, Kurt," he said warmly, clapping the taller man on the shoulder. "Thank you."

Xavier withdrew from Kurt's mind, leaning back in his wheelchair and opening his eyes. He was still smiling when he looked up at Ororo.

"You were right," he said to her, his smile widening at Scott's confused expression. "You were right, Ororo. He truly is Kurt Wagner. And he does want our help."

To Be Continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: Sabu's demise is based on the events seen in Excalibur #-1, Flashback: A True and Terrible Sacrifice. In that story, Belasco was responsible for the horrible death of Kurt's mentor.  
> NOTE II: This chapter is directly related to Part Seven of my story "Small Steps, Great Leaps."


	10. Chapter 9

Jean Summers paid the taxi driver and stood back as he drove away, hefting her purse over her shoulder and pulling up the handle to her wheeled overnight bag. Her talk had been quite well received at the medical conference, and she was looking forward to discussing several of the new theories put forward there with Hank, Charles, and Erik. The lecture involving the use of telepathy to assist coma patients had been particularly exciting...

A twig snapped to her left and Jean turned, dropping her bags and taking up a defensive posture. 

Someone was there in the grounds, watching her... A psychic presence tingling just at the edges of her shields. She 'sensed' him, moving nearer, coming from the direction of Ororo's garden...

Jean's eyes widened and she straightened in surprise. There, ambling his leisurely way through the lush, green grass, was a sleek, black goat. The goat lifted his long face, regarding her through large, blasé eyes, then continued across the grounds.

Jean smiled, shaking her head at herself as she took up her bags once again and headed for the front door. All her years as an X-Man had made her a bit paranoid, it seemed. For a moment, she could have sworn she'd felt a man watching her from behind that old oak...

Scott opened the door a moment before Jean managed to dig her keys out of her purse, their shared telepathic bond having alerted him to her arrival.

"Welcome home!" he greeted warmly, opening his arms wide. 

Jean stepped into them, bags and all, and squeezed him tightly.

"Mmm," she sighed against his neck. "It's good to be back."

"How was your trip?" Scott asked, pecking her on the cheek before letting her go. He took her free hand as they started down the hallway, the wheels of Jean's bag surprisingly loud as they bumped off the carpet onto the old, hardwood floor. "You were smiling when I opened the door, so I assume you had a good time."

"Since when do we have a goat?" she asked.

"A goat?" he repeated, bemused.

"Yes, a goat," Jean confirmed. "I saw one just now, wandering across the grounds."

"Well, it's not ours," Scott said. "At least, not as far as I know. Maybe it ran away from one of the farms down the road. Or, it could be some eccentric millionaire's escaped pet." He smirked at his own suggestion. "Hey, you never know."

Jean shrugged. 

"Maybe. And, to answer your question, I had a wonderful time at the conference, thank you. What's for breakfast?"

Scott raised an eyebrow. 

"Aren't you going to ask how things have been around here while you were gone?"

"I don't have to," Jean said, leading Scott into the kitchen and releasing his hand as she made a bee line for the refrigerator. "I can tell something big's been going on. But tell me later, after I've eaten something. They didn't have a meal service on the plane, and I just couldn't face fast food so early in the morning."

"I think breakfast is still going on in the dining hall if you don't mind eating with the students," Scott told her. "I can bring your stuff upstairs."

"Could you? I would really appreciate that, sweetie," Jean said and smiled, abandoning the refrigerator to grace her husband's lips with a kiss.

"Mmm," she sighed again, closing her eyes briefly. "It really is good to be home. I feel like I've been running on nothing but adrenaline for the past two days."

"Then you go get some breakfast," Scott said with a soft smile. "We can talk more once you've refueled. Here, let me take those for you."

He reached out a hand and Jean gave him her purse, her lips twitching slightly as he unselfconsciously slung the effeminate accessory over his broad shoulder.

"Thank you, Scott," she said sincerely.

"No problem," Scott assured her, grabbing the handle of her overnight bag. "Just meet me in the conference room when you're done eating, OK? There's a lot we need to talk about."

*******

Most of the breakfast platters were empty by the time Jean made her way to the long buffet table at the side of the room. The eggs were gone, as was the French toast, but there was still enough bacon, pancakes, and cantaloupe left to make a decent meal. Jean quickly loaded her plate, adding a generous dollop of cottage cheese to the top of her melon slice, then she scanned the tables for a place to sit.

None of the other teachers were around, but most of the students preferred to sleep late on Saturdays, so the room was still pretty full. Spotting a half-empty table, Jean picked her way through the chattering, laughing crowds, smiling and nodding whenever one of the children called out her name in greeting. 

"Hope you don't mind if I sit down," she said to her startled tablemates, already setting down her tray and pulling out a chair.

"No, it's OK, Dr. Summers," Paul Carter assured her, glancing over to Anna, who was flushing a pale shade of green. "Did you just get back?"

"Mm hmm..." Jean nodded, swallowing a large mouthful of pancake. "Just walked in the door five minutes ago. I hope you didn't miss me too much in class on Friday."

"Dr. McCoy showed us a video," Anna said politely. "About white blood cells and diseases and things. It was very interesting."

Jean glanced at her, a knowing gleam in her eye. 

"I'm sure," she said, taking another bite of breakfast. "And you all completed that essay afterwards?"

Anna, Paul, and the two other students, Holly and Adam, nodded, emitting a few low mumbles. 

Jean smirked behind her napkin. She planned to say more, but a spike of of frustration filtered through her lax shields, and she turned her head to find the source. 

Anna was shooting Paul a significant glance, her orange eyes wide. Paul gave her a helpless look, his yellow, reptilian eyes darting over to indicate Jean, his expression one of warning. 

Jean frowned suspiciously. These kids were hiding something - something potentially dangerous that her unexpected intrusion had obviously interrupted. Taking a sip of coffee, Jean composed her features, unwilling to let them know she was on to them quite yet.

"So, I hear there's been some excitement since I left," she prompted, apparently more interested in her cantaloupe than their responses.

Paul elbowed Adam, who gave a startled jump, then turned to Jean with a forced smile and a rehearsed line. But, Jean kept her mind on the nearly silent exchange taking place between Anna and Paul.

"See, she knows," Paul hissed to Anna, his voice so soft Jean had to drop her shields almost entirely to listen in. "I told you it was a bad idea."

"We were the ones who found him," Anna whispered back. "We have a right to know what's going on with him. We should at least be allowed to know the guy's name!"

"I know, but Professor Xavier warned us not to tell anybody what we saw. If he finds out we were planning to sneak down to see him, so soon after last night—"

"Paul, shut-up! She's looking at us!"

"She wouldn't read our thoughts...would she?"

Jean winced slightly, but she made sure her eyes were on Adam by the time Paul turned his head.

"So, all you know is that someone was hiding in the grounds last night," she said thoughtfully, repeating the line Adam had fed her as though she had been paying attention. "Well, that doesn't sound too serious to me."

"Yeah," Holly agreed. "It's probably nothing."

Jean smiled, rising from her chair and picking up her plate and mug. 

"Well, it's been a pleasure, kids, but I have to go. See you in class."

"Bye, Dr. Summers," the teens chorused. They sounded friendly enough, but Jean felt their eyes following her all the way out of the dining hall.

*******

Once in the corridor, Jean held a short debate with herself. Scott was no doubt waiting in the conference room to brief her on the situation, but Anna and Paul's clandestine conversation had piqued her curiosity. She felt an irrational, even childish impulse to go see the stranger first, to form her own opinions and judgments of the unknown man Anna and Paul had discovered before being influenced by anyone else's conclusions. Besides, if she was lucky, she might get a chance to try out some of the new, less-intrusive mental probing methods she had learned at the conference without having to go through all the trouble of running them by Charles first.

Jean shot a quick glance behind her to make sure the corridor was really empty, then strode directly for the elevator to the subbasement.

*******

"Hello? Hank? Knock, knock!"

Jean poked her head around the door to Hank's office. A wooden sign reading 'Out To Lunch' greeted her, hanging over the back of his chair by a length of rough twine. 

She turned away with a pointed smirk, quite aware how Hank reveled in that sign's double meaning. But, this was perfect. The fewer distractions she encountered down here, the less suspicious Scott would be when she arrived late to the conference room.

"This is very immature of you," Jean scolded herself, unable suppress a wicked little smile. "Bypassing all the proper channels, skulking around your own lab like a guilty student. What would Hank say if he came back and saw you like this?"

The cavernous medbay was silent except for the rhythmic beeps and hisses from the machines monitoring the stranger's vital signs. The unconscious man lay on his side in one of the three hospital beds, his back the door. A crisp, white sheet shielded him from her view - except for his hair, red enough to rival Jean's own fiery locks. Still, that color was hardly unusual in a world populated almost entirely by mutants.

Jean strode directly up to the stranger's bedside, reaching out a hand to adjust the sheet so she could get a clearer view of his face. A jolt of electricity stabbed at her fingertips, and she jumped back with a gasp.

"Yow! A forcefield!"

She frowned, shaking her tingling hand in annoyance. 

"Who the heck is this guy to warrant such warm hospitality?"

Jean looked around, but saw no sign of the 'patient's' chart anywhere. Her suspicion growing, she stretched out her hand again - from a safe distance, this time - using her telekinesis to fold down the stranger's sheet.

The man shifted in his sleep, mumbling softly as he buried his face deeper into the pillow. 

Jean scowled. She had to at least find out this man's name before she left to meet Scott. 

A thought occurred to her, and she cocked an impish eyebrow. This could be her chance to try out some of those new tele-scanning techniques....

Jean took in a deep breath through her nose, relaxing her shoulders as she brought her mind into focus. Her telepathy was strong, but she was no Charles Xavier. Even a light scan required her full concentration, particularly if the mind she was scanning was that of a stranger. Finding out something as deeply ingrained as his name shouldn't be too hard, though. 

Closing her eyes, Jean took a moment to recall the exact method Dr. Oesi had outlined at the conference, then stretched out with her mind, smoothly entering into the stranger's thoughts...

Jean furrowed her brow...this wasn't right... There was a strange kind of duality present here, almost as though she was reading two individuals rather than one... 

Jean headed for the stronger of the two, shivering slightly as thoughts and memories she could barely sense brushed by her like so many ghosts...

The landscape that met her mind's eye was dark and barren, but somewhere in the near distance, a dim light glowed. Jean shifted direction to follow it, passing over craggy cliffs and lifeless plains. The air was stifling and stagnant, and the reek of brimstone grew stronger the farther in she traveled.

The light was closer now. Jean slowed her progress, suddenly cautious as she saw something moving in the flickering light, a shadow, obscuring the sharp rock formations that littered the parched, cracked ground—

"Stop!"

Jean spun around, her green eyes widening in terror. A tall, russet-skinned man was storming straight to her, his horns reflecting the flickering light, his blood-red cloak billowing behind him, making him seem even larger, more shadowed. The nightmarish image left Jean frozen, as helpless as a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car, unable to speak, to scream, to breathe...

"Go away! Get out of here, now!" the menacing demon shouted, his intense, yellow eyes glowing furiously in the dimness.

"You idiot!" he roared. "You arrogant little—!" 

He cut himself off, clenching his fist in a terrified desperation too strong to be expressed in words. He ground his teeth, fixing her with a glare sharp enough to cut through stone.

"Don't you realize the danger? Don't you know where you are!" he cried. "Get out now, while you still can!"

Jean backed slowly away from the livid demon, her eyes nearly round, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. 

She knew where she was, now. She knew the reason for that forcefield. She had entered the mind of a demon, and now Belasco himself towered over her.

The demon's face contorted with frustration. Before she could react, he reached out with his one, powerful hand and grabbed her upper arm, violently wrenching her after him. Jean cried out in pain, but the demon ignored her. He was running now, his spaded tail beating at his cloak as it billowed out behind him. Jean followed as best she could, stumbling over the uneven ground as she struggled to free her arm from his vice-like grip.

"Let me go!" she gasped, twisting her body and clawing at his fingers with her free hand. "Let go of me!"

The demon stopped in his tracks, his eyes glowing with deadly anger as he lifted her off her feet and slung her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"I have worked too hard to regain control to have you ruin it all now through your ignorant stupidity!" he growled, holding her securely as he resumed his desperate sprint. "What was Charles thinking, sending you in here? I warned him, I told him..."

He snorted, bearing his sharp teeth. 

"I should have known better than to trust that old fool. He always thinks he knows better than anyone else. He knows nothing! Listen to me," he barked harshly. "I will take you to safety, but then you must leave, understand!"

The reality of her situation was slowly beginning to penetrate through the blinding terror that had gripped her before. Belasco had her trapped, carrying her away to God only knew where at an alarming pace. She had to escape, and quickly, before he reached his destination...

The demon's long tail lashed below her, just out of reach. Concerting her movements with the jarring rhythm of his steps, Jean reached down and grabbed the sinewy appendage, twisting it as hard as she could.

The demon howled in startled pain, dropping her as he arched his back, reaching for his throbbing tail with his red, three-fingered hand. 

Jean grinned in triumph, jumping to her feet and racing back the way they had come. She had to find someplace to hide. She needed to compose her mind again, to find her focus if she was to escape.

There! A cave! 

Jean raced into the darkness, sliding down into a gasping crouch against the cold, damp rock wall. She had ended up much farther in than she had ever intended to go. It would take a great deal of effort to get herself out and back into her own body, and she had to do it fast, before Belasco found her—

"Jean Grey," a deep voice rumbled from the darkness, smooth and smug and oozing with curdled charm. 

Jean's head shot up in alarm, her heart pounding harder than before.

"Or should I say Jean Summers?" the voice went on in a musing tone. "You did actually marry that spectacled stiff, didn't you?" He chuckled. "Well, there's no accounting for taste, I suppose. I must say, you are certainly looking your age this morning, my dear."

Jean glared, even though she couldn't see the man who was mocking her. But, that voice...

Her eyes widened, her hand flying to her mouth as she began to realize... The strange duality she had sensed, the fear she had seen flickering behind her kidnapper's angry eyes—

"Oh, God," she gasped. "He only had three fingers..."

The smug voice broke into cold laughter, a cruel cackle in the darkness. 

"Feeling a bit foolish now, are you? And so you should. For, my aging beauty..."

Jean gave an alarmed cry as bright, flickering light flooded the cave - the same light she'd seen when she first arrived. Looking up, she saw an imposing, red-skinned demon sitting tall and confident in an enormous throne carved high into the craggy rockface at the back of the cave. A deep fire pit opened around her in a smoky, flickering half-circle, the incredible heat backing her against the wall, the stench of brimstone nearly suffocating.

"...you have run from your savior's arm, only to fall directly into my trap," the demon finished with a broad, toothy grin.

"NEIN!" a familiar voice cried out from beyond the flames. "Jean!"

"Ah, if it isn't my old friend: Kurt Wagner!" Belasco said, turning his smile on his horrified double. "How's the tail? I saw how she twisted it." He gave a mock wince, his glowing eyes twinkling with dark amusement. "That must have hurt."

"Let her go, Belasco!"

Belasco gave a pointed yawn, rolling his golden eyes. 

"Out of my sight, little freak," he said with a dismissive wave of his five-fingered hand. "This clichéd posturing of yours bores me. This is my realm, and you have no power here. But, if you keep quiet, I just might let you watch while I make your X-Freak friends pay for the pain they have inflicted on my body."

"It's not your body!" Kurt retorted angrily, his tail lashing like a whip as he clenched his three-fingered fist. "And the X-Men have nothing to do with whatever has been happening. My hand had been aching long before I went back to the mansion, and you know it."

"Irrelevant!" Belasco growled. "I will not be anyone's prisoner. And you will not stand in my way."

Belasco made a fierce gesture with his hand, and suddenly Kurt stood next to Jean, trapped in place by a wall of fire and smoke. Kurt glared through the flames, snarling dangerously as Belasco once again burst into laughter.

"I know you think you have me trapped," Kurt snapped, "but don't forget that this is my mind too, Belasco. This may be your 'realm'," he snorted at the word, "and from what I've seen so far, you're welcome to it. But, Jean and I won't be staying for the show."

Kurt grabbed Jean's hand and dove straight into the rock wall. Jean barely had time to scream before a wave of roaring blankness enveloped them both...

To Be Continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time on Belasco's Beatrice: A peek into Belasco's mysterious past! Stay tuned! =D


	11. Chapter 10

Scott glanced at the conference room's elegant grandfather clock for the fifth time in as many minutes. 

He had called the senior faculty members to join the briefing, but they had been waiting for Jean to join them for nearly twenty minutes now, and Scott wasn't the only one starting to get antsy.

"What on earth can be taking her so long?" Erik muttered, crossly brushing an imaginary dust speck from the immaculately polished table.

"Perhaps she got caught up in a conversation with one of the students?" Hank suggested.

Ororo shook her head, her brow creased over her nose.

"No," she said, "it is not like Jean to loose track of the time like this. I should go find her."

"Why not allow her few minutes more before we start sending out search parties," Hank said. "It was a long flight, after all. She may just want to freshen up."

Scott tightened his lips. 

"Maybe..." he allowed. "But... Look, I don't know what it is, but I'm getting this creepy, weird feeling that something's wrong. I'm with Ororo on this. It's not like Jean to keep us waiting."

The Professor nodded slowly, his brow furrowed and his lips also a narrow line. 

"I am not sensing a disturbance," he noted, "but I agree that we have waited long enough. Scott, go find her. And, if you do happen to run into any trouble—"

"I'll contact you at once," Scott said grimly, already rising from his chair. "Give me five minutes. I'll be right back."

Ororo made a move as if to join him, but remained in her seat. Scott gave her an understanding nod, and quickly crossed the large room, closing the heavy, wooden door behind him.

*******

Charging down the stairs, Scott nearly plowed into four chatting students just leaving the dining hall. 

"Oh, Mr. Summers!" Anna gasped, her pale cheeks flushing a brilliant shade of green. "I'm sorry! We...we didn't see you...!"

"Any of you kids see my wife in there?" Scott asked, nodding toward the nearly empty cafeteria.

"Yes, sir," Adam said, his coarse, silvery skin sparkling in the sunlight streaming in through the window at the end of the hall. "She sat at our table. But, she left a while ago."

"How long ago?" Scott inquired, trying to keep his growing concern from his voice. "Did she happen to tell you where she was going?"

The students shared uncomfortable looks, and Scott frowned, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Well?" he prompted.

"We don't know where she went," Anna stated, her gaze steady as she looked Scott straight in the glasses. "She left, like, maybe around ten minutes ago? We talked for a while while she was eating...you know, about class and the homework she'd left for us and stuff. And that was it." 

She frowned. 

"Why, is something the matter?"

Scott shook his head, his lips tightening as he exhaled sharply through his nose. 

"No," he told her. "Everything's fine. I just wanted to talk with her, that's all."

"Well, she's got to be somewhere," Holly said, and smiled. "But we promised to meet some kids outside for baseball, so..."

She trailed off, the four of them fidgeting as if waiting for Scott's permission to leave. 

Scott furrowed his brow suspiciously. From the way they were acting, he could tell these kids were up to something, and Scott believed he could guess what it was.

"Thanks," he said. "And I won't keep you from your game, don't worry. But, remember this," he added, shooting them his best 'I'm on to you' look. "The medbay - in fact, the entire subbasement - is off limits to all students for the time being. It will continue to be off limits until I specifically tell you otherwise. Am I understood?"

The students seemed to deflate. Anna squeezed her orange eyes tightly closed, hissing something through her teeth that sounded suspiciously like a swear. 

Scott's little smirk deepened. Gotcha...

"Yes, Mr. Summers," the four teens mumbled.

"Now go on, get out of here," Scott said with a playful, shooing gesture. "Go get some fresh air. I'll make sure you're filled in on our guest's details, but only as long as you promise not to poke your noses where they don't belong." 

"Really?" Anna said. "We can have an inside scoop? 'Before' the rest of the school?"

"Well, you and Paul did nearly crush the poor man," Scott said. "But, I'm serious about this restriction. And, I don't think I need to tell you the penalty for a security violation of that magnitude."

Paul swallowed nervously, but Anna seemed satisfied, at least for the time being.

"OK, Mr. Summers, we promise," she said, and she turned to the others. "Come on, guys. Let's get out of here!"

Scott shook his head as he watched the students scamper off, wondering whether he should warn the Professor about what they had been up to, when a thought froze him in place. If Jean had picked up on their all-too-obvious plans to spy on their intruder—

Wait...that was it...that was the source of the disquieting feeling that had been setting him on edge since he left Jean. His mental link with her, their special telepathic bond...he couldn't feel it. 

He'd called Hank away from the medbay - there was no one down there to warn her...to stop her...!

Scott dashed for the elevator to the subbasement, firmly swallowing back a spike of guilty dread.

"Professor," he snapped into his comm unit, "we may have a problem..."

*******

Kurt Wagner tore through the taut film separating him from the light glowing just beyond, the terror of the empty blankness that had been pulling at him, clawing at him still roaring in his ears. 

He squeezed his thick, red fingers tighter around Jean's hand, giving a sharp yank as he helped her push through after him.

Jean coughed, gulping air and leaning against Kurt's cloaked shoulder until she could trust her shaky legs to support her. 

"That," she gasped, "was not normal!"

Kurt raised a sardonic eyebrow.

"What wasn't?" he snarled. "Your unwelcome trespass? Or, getting us both trapped in Belasco's little mini-Limbo because you were too frightened and pigheaded to listen to me?" 

Jean glared, then sighed. 

"OK, maybe I deserved that," she acknowledged. "But, that wasn't what I meant. That weird...nothingness we just passed through. The funny filmy stuff we had to break through to get...wherever we are now. I've never sensed anything like that before. It strikes me as..."

"As what?" Kurt pressed, his churlish attitude unable to completely hide his curiosity.

"Unnatural," Jean finished with a dissatisfied frown. "It felt...I don't know...artificial somehow. But...no, it's more than that..."

She shook her head, squinting her eyes as she struggled to put her feelings into words. 

"None of what I have seen so far feels like it belongs to you, Kurt; that it originated from you," she said. "If you weren't here with me now, I'd swear I had entered the mind of a different person all together."

"You did," Kurt said caustically. "Your intrusion woke Belasco, and he is the one in control here. He has been for...well, for more years than I really care to count. And for all that time, I have been nothing more than a shadow, a ghost...haunting Belasco's twisted thoughts. At least, that is how things were...until the night she came..." 

He turned away from her, closing his eyes as if in pain.

"Until she...?" Jean shook her head, not understanding. "Who is 'she'? What do you mean, Kurt?"

The russet-skinned man seemed about to answer, but stopped, his eyes widening as he caught sight of something over Jean's shoulder. 

Jean turned slowly, following his startled gaze.

"Oh, my God," she gasped. "Where are we?"

The two mutants stood in the shade at the outskirts of the bustling cobblestone square of a very European-looking city. Fresh, springtime sunlight lit the crowded open market, making even the cramped, litter-strewn alleys seem vibrant and picturesque.

"I don't know," Kurt responded, clearly disconcerted by the improbable sight before him. "If I were to take a wild guess, I'd say this was Florence. That bridge there, with the scaffolding, could be the Ponte Vecchio. But, everything looks so different from the last time I came here with the circus. Almost unrecognizable."

"Then, what makes you think this is Florence?"

"Because," he said distractedly, "Belasco was born in Florence...a contemporary of the poet Dante Alighieri."

His tail twitched, and he turned to her.

"Jean, can these people see us?" he demanded. "Can you tell if Belasco knows we're here?"

Jean brought a hand to her temple, but shook her head.

"I'm not sure," she said. "Why do you ask?"

Kurt pointed.

"Look at that tall man heading for the bridge," he said. "Do his features remind you of anyone?"

Jean looked from the pale, dark-haired man to Kurt, startled by the uncanny resemblance.

"Oh, God," she breathed. "Do you think he could be Belasco in disguise?"

Kurt frowned, keeping his eyes trained on the man and his shorter companion.

"Perhaps," he mused, his expression softening slightly as he watched the young man laugh with his friend. "Or, perhaps he is who Belasco used to be... The man he was before he became the demon we know."

"Should we follow him?" Jean asked.

Kurt looked at her, and almost smiled. 

"Do you really think I would blend into that crowd, Liebling?"

Jean gave a start, her heart clenching in her chest as she regarded the russet-skinned man, feeling she was seeing him for the first time. And, it was the first time she truly recognized him as her old friend and teammate. 

Slowly, she smiled back, struggling to hide her strong reaction behind a shaky laugh. This really was Kurt, and he was alive!

"Well, like you said, this is your mind too, isn't it?" she said. "Couldn't you try to change your appearance, like in a dream?"

Kurt looked startled by the suggestion. 

"I don't really know," he said thoughtfully. "I've never tried such a thing on purpose before."

"Well, try it now," Jean said, glancing back at the two men. "If we stand here too long, we're going to lose them."

Kurt nodded, his face taking on a look of total concentration as he stared at Jean. The telepath looked down to see her slightly rumpled business suit had been replaced with a colorful gown similar to the gowns many of the women in the market wore. She grinned in proud astonishment, but when she looked up to praise Kurt she saw a pale man with dark hair, dark eyes, and a long, aquiline nose looking back at her. He, too, was dressed in medieval garb.

"Basil Rathbone," the man explained, offering her a somewhat self-conscious smile that quickly turned sardonic. "I haven't been feeling much like an Errol Flynn character of late."

Jean brought a hand to her mouth, surprised to feel her eyes stinging. 

"No, it's perfect, Kurt," she told him through her fingers, unable to completely hide her smile. On impulse, she stepped forward, wrapping the taller man in a tight embrace. Her unshed tears nearly fell when she felt him hesitantly return it.

"What—?" Kurt cleared his throat, pulling away from her with a slightly suspicious frown. "What was that for?"

Jean just shook her head, her lips still twitching as she fought to reign in her emotions. 

"Come on," she said, stepping out into the bright sunlight. "Those two men can't have gone far."

*******

Kurt and Jean caught up with their quarry at the old bridge. The two men had paused there, leaning casually against the cool stone while they talked. The eavesdroppers passed the pair and took up casual poses of their own, pretending to watch the rather dirty water flowing beneath them.

"Listen to me, my friend," the taller of the two men was saying, a broad, playful smile quirking across his narrow face. "You have been holed up with your dusty scrolls and papers for far too long. I say enough with the poetry and the politics! It's time for you to have some fun."

"No, Brunetto, you listen to me," the shorter man said. "You don't seem to realize: if I ever hope to be eligible for political office in this city, I first must enroll in the guild of physicians and apothecaries. That requires a great deal of hard work and responsibility - two things you know nothing about."

"Pish," was Brunetto's retort. "Your responsibilities can certainly wait an hour for your return. Of what use will you be to the great city of Florence if you starve yourself of sunshine, life, and laughter - not to mention food. Did I mention food? Because I don't know about you, Dante, but I need my lunch and a glass or two of good wine before I can even think of returning to work."

"I wouldn't exactly call what you do 'work'," Dante scoffed.

Brunetto clasped a dramatic hand to his heart. 

"My friend, you wound me with your biting words. Of course what I do is 'work'. Do you think it's easy striving to decipher the mysteries of the universe? And if, in the meantime, a few lovely ladies or exceedingly rich gentlemen decide they would rather their silver necklace or copper buttons were made of gold, who am I to deny them?"

"Your brand of alchemy is no more than a scam, Brunetto, and you are nothing more than a cheap con artist."

"I object to that word 'cheap' as a descriptor!" Brunetto huffed, haughtily drawing himself up. "I am a very expensive con artist. Lord knows those rich snobs can certainly spare the cash. And, there is real gold dust in the paint I use." 

He waved off the look Dante shot him. 

"Besides, I only do that to fund my real work; my research into how and why the world was made and what comes afterward, when we leave it."

"God made the world," Dante snapped. "And His kingdom is what awaits us after death. That is all you need to know or to worry yourself over. Unless, of course, you would rather spend eternity in the Inferno for your continuous blasphemies."

Brunetto quirked an eyebrow. 

"If the Devil agreed to answer my questions, I might just consider it worth it."

Dante stared, his mouth slightly open. 

"Do not talk that way, Brunetto Donati, not even in jest." He shook his head. "Honestly, if you weren't my wife's cousin—"

"Oh, come off it, Dante," Brunetto said, and laughed. "You know we make a great pair - you with your dreaming and I with my scheming. And speaking of scheming, look who just stepped onto our bridge."

All color drained from Dante's already pale cheeks as his eyes followed his friend's gesturing hand.

"Beatrice!" he gasped.

"Right on the first guess," Brunetto said, grinning impishly. "Beatrice Portinari, the unfairly beautiful young wife of that sickeningly wealthy banker who has in his charge all my father's accounts. At least, they're the accounts of the man my mother 'claimed' to be my father."

He snorted a brief, derisive laugh. 

"Did you know the ugly old fossil has declared he'll not so much as consider including me in his will until I reach the so-called 'responsible' age of thirty? Isn't that kind of him after twenty-odd years of pretending I don't exist? Knowing my father, though, he'll probably die first. Either that, or he'll fix it so I inherit the family cat... But, enough of this talk," he said brusquely, straightening his coat and smoothing his shiny, black hair. "Come on, let's go say hello."

"Brunetto, no! Wait!" Dante squeaked.

But, Brunetto was already sauntering up to the small group of young ladies standing just across the way. Offering them a gallant bow, he said: "Buon giorno, signora! It is a lovely day, is it not?"

Beatrice smiled, but quickly lifted a pale hand to shield her expression as her small entourage of richly dressed ladies gasped and blushed at the young man's shamelessly forward behavior.

"Indeed it is, signore," she responded, politely lowering her eyes. "It's wonderful to see the sun again after all the rain we've had recently."

"Ah, yes..." Brunetto nodded sagely. "The weather has been quite trying of late. But, surely there are more engaging topics to discuss," he said, jumping up to sit on the bridge wall. "I know! Let's talk about me."

"About you?" she repeated, raising her eyebrows.

"More precisely," Brunetto corrected, reaching out to take her hand, "about us. I love you, Beatrice. I've always loved you. I want you to leave your husband and run away with me. Please say you will!"

Beatrice's entourage seemed unsure whether to laugh at this outrageous display or to shout in indignation. Beatrice solved their dilemma by demurely removing her hand from Brunetto's grasp a moment before he brought it to his lips for a kiss.

"Amusing as I may find our little chats, Signore Donati," she said primly. "I really can't waste any more time in the company of a rogue such as you. You may have no thought for your own reputation, brash scoundrel, but to a lady such as myself, honor is everything."

Brunetto released a theatrical sigh.

"My lady, your words are as wise as they are painful," he said. "So, once again I stand rejected, my heart forced...reluctantly...to seek comfort in the arms of another." 

He jumped down from the wall, right into the middle of Beatrice's entourage. 

"Any of you girls interested?" he asked with a wink.

Dante cringed in sympathy as Brunetto found himself assaulted by a dozen hands, three fans, and a bouquet of spring flowers all slapping and hitting and pushing him away. But, Brunetto was laughing - as were the girls who weren't shouting out their own rejections and insults against Brunetto's character. Moments later, the girls had continued on, leaving Brunetto, Dante, and their two clandestine spectators alone in the middle of the old bridge.

"If only she weren't married, eh Dante," Brunetto sighed, nudging his friend playfully as he leaned over the side to watch the water flow under the bridge. Slowly, Dante turned to join him.

"You treat the lady with a familiarity that is neither warranted nor proper," he said softly. "And, I don't think it's right."

"She doesn't mind," Brunetto said without looking up. "None of them do, really. If they did, I would probably have been fined or banished or locked in irons or something long ago. If you ask me, I think they rather enjoy the attention."

"It's still not right," Dante insisted. "She had a point when she spoke of her honor. You risk everything she has playing foolish games like that. We aren't children anymore, Brunetto. Even words said in jest can carry weight."

Brunetto stared at the sparkling water, his expression tight and serious. Then, he slapped his hands against the stone, forcefully shoving himself upright as he turned on his heel and started to march away.

"You're right," he called over his shoulder, all trace of good humor gone from his voice. "It's not a game anymore. In fact, it never was. I have to get back to my laboratory."

"But, our lunch—?" Dante started.

"I'm not hungry," Brunetto called back. "I'll meet up with you some other time. Good day, Dante."

Dante looked baffled, and a little concerned, but he shrugged it off.

"I'll see you later, then," he said, and started walking in the opposite direction from his friend.

Jean stepped away from the wall with a baffled expression of her own.

"What do you think all that was about?" she said.

"Clearly, they are both in love with the same unattainable woman," Kurt said. "How can you be a telepath, and not see that?

Jean's green eyes flashed. 

"I already told you that this place seems weirdly artificial," she said. "And, that little scene only confirmed that impression. I don't know if it's me or a side effect of that strange duality I sensed before, but watching those people... It was like watching a TV show. There was no emotional presence there to sense...from either of them! They may as well have been holograms, or cardboard cut-outs for all I could tell."

"And what about me?" he asked, his dark eyes oddly tight. "What do you sense when you look at me?"

Jean closed her eyes, taking in a deep, calming breath as she narrowed her focus. 

"I sense...guilt... Anger...fear...pain..." 

And something else. Something so deep and strong she had nearly missed it. A shimmer of white against the sun, slender brown hands guiding blue as they dug into rich soil... 

Jean opened her eyes, looking into Kurt's disguised face with a carefully unreadable expression.

"And hope," she said, tilting her head slightly. Could Kurt have been harboring an 'unattainable' love of his own? For how long? Did Ororo know?

"Your presence here is real, Kurt," she assured him. "Real and solid. The rest of this..."

She trailed off, gazing around the medieval city with a frustrated shake of her head. 

"What happened to you all those years ago?" she said softly, slowly turning back to look at him. "Who could have done this to you?"

"Xavier said the answer was in here somewhere," Kurt told her, tapping his temple with a long, pale finger. "All I have to do is find it."

"All 'we' have to do, you mean," Jean corrected. "And, I think the best place to start would be that Brunetto's lab."

"I agree," Kurt said. "Except for one thing." 

He straightened, shooting her an imposing glare. 

"I'm going alone."

"Now, wait one minute—"

"Jean, I don't know what Charles was thinking when he sent you in here and I don't care," Kurt snapped. "But, your presence here is a liability I can't afford, and I want you out. If I have even a hope of regaining control from Belasco, I'm going to need—"

"You're going to need help!" Jean cut in. "And, before you start blaming Charles for this mess, you should know Charles didn't send me in here, Kurt. He doesn't even know about it. I came on my own." 

She shook her head, embarrassed. 

"I don't really know why I did it, to tell you the truth," she admitted sheepishly. "It was a foolish, ill-advised move on my part, and—"

"I'll say!" Kurt exclaimed, his pale face flushing angrily. "Not only did you wake Belasco, forcing me to go into hiding again, but you nearly got us both killed! If I hadn't—"

"And, I thank you for that," Jean interrupted again. "You went out of your way to rescue me - twice! - after all the stupid things I said and did. But, this is my chance to return the gesture. Let me help you, Kurt. Let me prove myself as much a friend to you as you have always been to me."

"It's not as easy as that!" Kurt snarled, running a frustrated hand through his black hair. "Belasco is looking for us even now, and if he finds us that fire-pit will be the least of your worries."

"All the more reason for us to get going," Jean said, giving his hand a gentle pull as she started walking in the direction Brunetto had gone. "If we keep moving, it will be harder for him to locate us."

Kurt glared, then shook his head with a slight sneer. 

"I'm not going to get rid of you, am I?" he said.

"I'm not leaving you, Kurt, if that's what you mean," she said firmly. "Like it or not, we're in this together. Now, let's go find Brunetto. He has to hold at least some of the answers to all this, or his memories wouldn't be here, would they?"

Kurt still looked conflicted, but Jean could tell her words had touched him. A moment later, he confirmed that impression with a small smile, a smile that came and went so quickly if she hadn't been looking for it, she would have missed it.

"Then come along, meine Freundin," he said brusquely, leading the way toward an open doorway across the cobbled street. "Through here."

Jean followed him into the blackness without hesitation. Once she was inside, Kurt grabbed her hand.

"Hold on tight," he warned. 

Before she could respond, Jean felt herself falling, tumbling helplessly through the same horrible, blinding nothingness they had passed through after escaping from Belasco's trap. But this time, she held on to Kurt's hand out of trust instead of fear - and she knew he noticed the difference.

To Be Continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTES:
> 
> This chapter was inspired, in part, by the biographies/autobiography of Dante Alighieri and the 1883 painting "Dante and Beatrice" by Henry Holiday.
> 
> Like Dante, Beatrice (Bice di Folco) Portinari is a real historical figure. Her father was a Florentine citizen, and she married a wealthy banker, Simone dei Bardi in 1287. She died in 1290 at age 24. According to Dante's "La Vita Nuova," and Giovanni Boccaccio's "Life of Dante," the poet met with her twice, first when they were both nine and maybe once after that in 1283 on May Day. Dante kind of fixated on her - or, maybe, the 'poetic ideal' she represented in his mind - and she became the subject of many of his poems. He depicts Beatrice as his "salvation," the "glorious lady of his mind," his guide to Paradise in "The Divine Comedy," and the person responsible for his adventure through the realms of the afterlife. Here's a link to the famous Henry Holiday painting of Beatrice ignoring Dante on a bridge that helped inspire this chapter: http://www.liverpoolmuseums.org.uk/picture-of-month/displaypicture.aspx?id=152 There's some background info on the work, subjects, and artist there too, if you're interested. :) Dante wrote that, after seeing Beatrice on the bridge, a strong joy filled him and he had to head off to his room, where he had a dream about her that inspired him to write the first of his zillion poems about her. Yep...weird guy, Dante.
> 
> The real Dante joined the guild of physicians and apothecaries in Florence, and became actively involved in politics when he was thirty. This story takes place shortly before Beatrice's death, though, so the 'character' Dante is not in the guild yet and not yet eligible for office.
> 
> I chose the name Brunetto for Belasco's 'human' persona because the philosopher and scholar Brunetto Latini probably had an influence on the real Dante's education and also because Brunetto has three syllables and looks kind of like Belasco if you're tired and really blur your eyes. I made his last name Donati because the real Dante's wife was named Gemma Donati (he married her in 1285, before Beatrice got married, and had kids before Beatrice died, making his primarily mental 'courtly love' relationship with an imagined ideal of Beatrice kind of seem even weirder), and I thought it might be interesting for the characters Dante and Belasco to have family ties on top of being friends - especially considering what happens to them later on.
> 
> Thus concludes the Author's Notes for this chapter. Stay tuned for Ch. 11, coming soon! :)


	12. Chapter 11

After Scott left the room, Ororo pushed her chair back from the conference table and opened the large window, briefly closing her eyes as the refreshing breeze brushed against her face. Her garden was just visible from this vantage point, as was the large oak tree where they had found Kurt the night before.

Ororo leaned forward slightly as she tried to locate the spot where he had been lying. The sedative Hank had given Kurt that morning would be wearing off in about an hour. He would probably be disoriented, even frightened, and she didn't want him waking up alone.

Movement caught her eye, and she blinked, surprised to see a rather large, black goat staring up at her from the lawn by her garden. She squinted a little, wondering where it could have come from, when she noticed something very odd. It was probably just the way the goat was standing in relation to the sun, but to Ororo's eyes it seemed the shadow cast by the animal was not that of a goat, but of a man.

She shivered, about to alert the others, but the goat gave a soft bleat, the sunlight making its dark eyes appear to take on a reddish gleam. It lowered its gaze and wandered away and, as it did, Ororo turned from the window, all thoughts of warning gone from her mind. Without a word, she strode across the room and out the door.

Hank looked to the Professor, a question in his expression - a question Erik voiced first.

"And where is she off to in such a hurry?" the imposing mutant demanded.

"I'm not sure," Xavier said, his brow furrowed. "I sensed a spike of apprehension from her, and then...nothing." He frowned, steepling his fingers before him. "Perhaps she—"

"Professor, we may have a problem!"

It was Scott's voice, piping in over the intercom, his voice hard with urgency.

"Scott, where are you?" Xavier asked. "Have you found Jean?"

"I'm just entering the medbay," Scott reported. "Oh, God..." 

"What is it, Scott?" Hank said, already rising to his feet.

"It's Jean," he responded tersely. "She's here, but she's unconscious. And, our guest seems to be having some kind of fit. He's unconscious too - I think - but he can't seem to keep still, and these machines he's hooked up to are going crazy!"

"We'll be down momentarily, Scott," Xavier announced, backing his chair away from the table and wheeling toward the door, Hank and Erik close behind. "Do not lower the force field. Erik," he said, turning his head to face his old friend as they hurried down the corridor, "I'd appreciate it if you would boot up Cerebro for me - just in case. I've a feeling we may need to put a few of your recent modifications to the test."

Erik nodded curtly, peeling away down an adjacent corridor as Hank and the Professor packed themselves into the elevator bound for the medbay.

*******

Brunetto's laboratory was little more than a cramped, cluttered room at the back of his tiny house. The tall man stood in the far corner, hunched over a narrow table painted with various symbols and runes. 

Kurt frowned from the dark corner where he and Jean were concealed.

"What is it?" Jean asked, trying to see what he was frowning at.

"That pentagram," he whispered back, uncertain whether Brunetto could sense them or not. "And those strange runes..." 

His eyes narrowed, growing distant with memory. 

"I've seen them before...when I was a child. I remember - my foster mother, Margali, she had runes like that painted on the table where she sat when she told people their fortunes. She told me they were part of a spell of summoning, that she used them to summon spirits to help her in her work."

He leaned back against the wall, casting a quick glance at Jean. His intense, dark eyes burned into hers, his lean, pale features tight with apprehension. Both of them were still in disguise, and Jean had to be very careful not to let her long skirts rustle as she moved to lean beside him.

"What do you think he's doing?" she asked as they watched Brunetto open a cloth bag and begin removing a number of bright stones of the deepest red, arranging them in a careful pattern on the painted pentagram.

Kurt shook his head distractedly, his attention focused fully on Brunetto and his stones. 

Brunetto began to speak, and a flurry of movement drew Jean's eyes to a large, black bird perched in the wooden cage on the shelf above the table. It peered down at Brunetto through sharp, beady eyes, looking almost as though it could understand his words.

"I know I can't put this off any longer, my friend," he said to the bird. "The appointed time is swiftly approaching, and yet I hesitate."

He pushed away from his table, striding across the small space to room's only window. His profile was little more than a silhouette among the shadows, but his dark eyes glittered in the fading sunlight.

"I have done everything the demon has asked of me so far. I have ingratiated myself to Beatrice, acted the fool for her amusement. She suspects nothing. There are even times when I...when I think she might like me." 

He chuckled softly, but it sounded more like a sob.

"Oh, God, what have I gotten myself into!" 

He clawed a hand through his dark hair, his thin nostrils flaring as he fought to reign in his emotions. 

"I know what the Elder Gods expect of me, but when I made this bargain I never thought...I never..."

He turned to face his bird, his anguish plain to see. 

"I never believed any woman could touch me. I always prided myself on my control, knowing I am ruled by my head rather than my heart. But, the way she looks at me, Tanaquil...her sly little smile... She makes me 'feel', as I have never felt before. I am more 'alive' in her presence; colors are brighter, sounds more resonant." He smiled; a soft, distant quirk of his lips. "She is like an angel, my friend, her every smile a sweet benediction warming my frosted soul."

Tanaquil gave a low squawk, ruffling her feathers as she shifted position on her perch. 

Brunetto frowned.

"I know, I know," he said, firmly schooling his features. "I'm being ridiculous. Next thing you know, I'll be spouting poetry; as hopeless a romantic as old Dante." He smirked with an air of superior disdain. "No, my friend, this is not a time for sentiment. I must maintain my control; detach myself from the crude emotions she stirs in me. The bloodstones are in place, and the Elder Gods wait to hear of my progress. I have upheld my part of the bargain. It's time to see if they will keep theirs."

The bird squawked again, tilting her head at him and snapping her beak. Brunetto smiled; a cold, hungry grin. 

"Just think of it, Tanaquil," he said, his dark eyes glittering. "All the knowledge, all the power of the supernatural is nearly within my grasp. No more guesswork, no more theorizing, no more laborious experimentation... The mysteries of the universe will unlock for me, and only for me!" 

He cackled a laugh that put Kurt in mind of Vincent Price, or Christopher Lee. Jean shivered, leaning against Kurt's arm as Brunetto went on.

"To have all my questions answered, to finally know the truth... It would be worth any price, would it not?" he asked the bird. "And what is Beatrice to me, anyway? She is a married woman and, even if she were not, a woman like that would never consider me as a serious suitor. I have no money, no family - I can't even point out my natural father with any real confidence. Anything I may feel for Beatrice is merely wishful thinking on my part, and I have never been one to fall victim to such foolish delusions. Besides," he added, some of the confidence slipping from his tone, "whatever the Elder Gods want with her, I'm sure they wouldn't harm her. Otherwise, why go through all the trouble of getting me to become so friendly with her?"

Tanaquil didn't answer; more intent on preening her feathers than assuaging Brunetto's uncertainty. It didn't matter anyway, because that uncertainty soon passed. Brunetto clutched the edge of his lab table, his dark eyes hard with renewed purpose.

"I once told Dante I would willingly spend an eternity in hell if the Devil answered my questions," he said, staring down at the carefully arranged bloodstones, his pulse beginning to quicken. "And it's true. If that is the cost of ultimate understanding, I am ready to pay." 

He shot his pet raven a quick flash of a smile, then lowered his head and splayed his fingers above the stones.

"Well, Tanaquil, there's no turning back now," he said, his voice as steady as his hands. Gathering his courage, he took a deep breath, then spoke a short incantation:

"Veni mihi, Azazel!"

The bloodstones flashed once, then began to glow with an intense light that only grew brighter as they cast a sparkling pattern of light against the ceiling. 

Brunetto lowered his hands and took a step back, his features composed and his expression calm. He had made his choice, confident he could handle the consequences it would bring. 

The sparkling, red lights began to spin and whirl, deepening and thickening until they created a physical vortex. As it grew, a strange, smoky landscape came into view, barren and rocky, bathed in a reddish light that reflected dimly off the thick, sulfurous clouds hanging heavily in the sky. An ancient, crumbling castle loomed in the near distance, majestic yet terrifying. with narrow, fang-like spires that thrust upward into the gloom.

Kurt couldn't contain a sharp gasp as he realized he recognized that structure, and the lean, armored man standing on the drawbridge. He knew that deep, red skin, the devilish goatee, the cold, smug gleam of triumph in his fierce, yellow eyes...

"Greetings, Azazel," Brunetto said with a polite bow.

"Brunetto Donati." The demon grinned, his sharp, white teeth flashing as he rode the widening portal down the wall to the floor. "Right on time, as I had expected. Tell me," he said, his intense eyes darkening. "How goes things with the lovely Beatrice?"

"Extremely well," Brunetto reported, his stance bordering on cocky as he looked Azazel straight in the eye, refusing to be intimidated by the powerful being he knew as the leader of the Elder Gods. "We have become quite friendly over the past few months. Everything is working out exactly as you predicted."

Azazel's grin broadened, his eyes alight with something like pride. 

"I knew you would not disappoint me," he said, reaching for something out of sight beyond the vortex. "And, now, I expect you are waiting to see if I will fulfill my part of the bargain."

"That's right," Brunetto said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Well, never fear, my son," the demon said, holding a large, steaming goblet out for Brunetto to take. It seemed to be carved from the same dull, red rock that dominated the landscape behind him.

"Take this goblet and drink the contents," he instructed, pushing his hand through the whirling portal with some difficulty. "By this action, you will seal our pact and gain the power you desire. Only then can I begin to impart to you the knowledge that you seek."

Brunetto stared at the smoking goblet for a long moment, swallowing a deep shudder. Then he squared his shoulders, reaching out to take it from Azazel.

"What is this?" he grimaced, his nose wrinkling at the sharp, bitter smell of the smoking drink.

"It is merely a catalyst, based on a formula discovered by one Henry McCoy several centuries from now," Azazel explained, enjoying the thoroughly lost look on Brunetto's face. "It will cause a reaction in your system that will activate the dormant mutant gene you inherited from me." 

The demon smiled, his hard expression as close to reassuring as he could make it. 

"Drink it, Brunetto," he urged, "and everything I just said will become clear to you."

Brunetto raised the goblet to his lips, then hesitated, peering at the demon over the rim.

"What will happen once I drink this?" he asked, his hands shaking slightly as he struggled to maintain his resolve. "What will it do to me?"

"To tell you the truth, I'm not entirely sure," Azazel admitted, his expression softening even further. "Mutant manifestation varies from individual to individual. But it should be quite interesting to find out."

"What do you mean?" Brunetto demanded.

"Just drink," the demon ordered, "and you will have your answer."

Brunetto swallowed hard, then nodded. Squeezing his eyes closed, he drained the goblet, gasping slightly as he dropped it to the floor, then clutched his hand to his throat.

"Madre di Dio!" he exclaimed, his eyes tearing up as he doubled over in pain. "Oh, God, it hurts! What have you done to me?"

"Yes," Azazel said with false sympathy. "It will hurt. But the pain will pass, believe me."

Brunetto reached out blindly for the support of his table, but he collapsed to the floor before he could reach it, curling into a tight ball as he writhed in pain. Azazel just watched, coldly, clinically, the smallest of smiles twisting his lips as Brunetto's eyes shot wide open. Their dark irises were gone now, obscured by bright, glowing yellow. His pale, flushed face was deepening in color, becoming nearly as red as Azazel's own skin.

"I'm proud of you, my son," the demon said, amused and delighted as a long, spade-tipped tail made its appearance, lashing violently in a reflection of Brunetto's abject, screaming agony. "You alone, out of all my children, have never yet failed me. Finally, after all these centuries of waiting and scheming, I shall finally return to rule my earth. And you will be my instrument. Let us hope that you continue to serve me as successfully now that it matters most, my brave, loyal Belasco."

Chuckling to himself, Azazel pressed a palm against the thin barrier separating his dimension from Earth, testing its strength. Brunetto's summons had managed to bring the two dimensional planes close enough together for the demon to cross from one to the other, but that rare proximity would not last long. He would have to work fast if he was to accomplish his goal before the dimensions parted and he found himself ripped back to the hot, barren pit that had served as his prison for so many centuries.

Stepping gracefully into Brunetto's cramped, cluttered lab, Azazel pressed a button on his thick belt. The dusty air around him shimmered as his form and clothing began to change. A moment later, he had become the spitting image of Brunetto Donati - before he ingested Azazel's formula. Taking a moment to check his appearance in the small mirror he kept in his pocket, Azazel smoothed his dark hair, then casually stepped over his screaming son, leaving him to endure the pain of his transformation alone, except for Tanaquil's agitated shrieks and the unnoticed company of two stunned eavesdroppers.

To Be Continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apart from the bit about Belasco using bloodstones to make a Faustian bargain with the Elder Gods and Azazel's otherdimensional 'realm', everything in this chapter was made up. I inserted Azazel into Belasco's backstory, made up Brunetto's 'mutant manifestation', and I named Brunetto's pet raven Tanaquil after the wife of Tarquin, Rome's fifth king, known for her prophetic abilities. He had to exposit to somebody, why not a raven? :)


	13. Chapter 12

"Welcome Magneto."

Erik blinked away the residual tingle from the retinal scan, his thin lips twitching slightly upwards as the thick, rounded doors slid open before him with a pneumonic CHLNK-WHOOSH. Aiming a brief nod at the security camera, the imposing, silver-haired mutant strode down the suspended corridor to the control station situated in the center of the enormous, spherical room.

His expression softened as he ran his hands over the cool metal of the controls, letting his eyes drift over the complicated arrangement of switches, levers, and keypads that blinked and twinkled in the dimness of the cavernous space. It still felt slightly odd to be able to stand there so freely, without having to be on the alert against tripping an alarm or a surprise attack by Xavier's precocious X-Men. He and Charles had been on opposing sides for decades, each doing his best to put an end to the other and all he stood for. To now be welcome here, in the power center of Xavier's organization...it seemed somewhat surreal. Yet, it felt familiar as well. It felt right.

It was the human problem that had forced Charles and Erik to become adversaries; that had forced mutants to fight mutants for such an unconscionably long time. Xavier had wanted to work with the humans toward a dream of peace that Erik had known would never come to pass. Now that the world was almost entirely populated by mutants, however, there was no longer any cause for the hostility that had grown up between Magneto's Brotherhood and Xavier's X-Men to continue, and they had long ago joined forces under a single banner. Peaceful coexistence had finally become a reality, but mutants were the ones calling the shots. The few remaining humans were grateful for the benevolent protection of the X-Men. 

And, to Erik's mind, that was just as it should be.

Taking a deep breath, Erik turned slowly in place, his eyes glittering with pride as he took a few moments to just drink in the room. Before they'd had their falling out, Erik had assisted Xavier in the creation of this massive computer, subsequently dubbed Cerebro. This was 'his' machine, 'his' design. Charles had supplied the funds and the specifications - he had been the idea man, as it were - but Erik had done much of the actual work. 

The purpose of the massive machine was to amplify and direct Xavier's considerable telepathic capabilities, allowing him to locate and even contact any living person on the planet. The specially designed helmet literally gave its wearer the power of life and death over the entire population of the Earth. 

Today, Erik was only interested in turning the machine's focus to a single individual: the red-skinned intruder lying in the medical bay.

"Cerebro," he called out, his rich, commanding voice resonating against the curved, metal walls. "Identify: Erik Lehnsherr, authorization code 624N38S 76C5."

"Identity verified," the computer's calm female voice responded. "Good afternoon, Erik."

"And good afternoon to you, Cerebro," Erik replied. While he knew the highly advanced computer didn't truly understand such social niceties, in Erik's opinion it never hurt to be polite. "We have a visitor down in sector one of the mansion subbasement. Scan his mind and activate program Lehnsherr4. Use the newly installed holoemitters to project the results."

"Working," the computer announced evenly. "Please stand by."

"I'll sit, if you don't mind." 

Reaching under the main console, Erik rolled out an upholstered stool, only to push it right back when an intermittent red light began to flash.

"Warning," Cerebro alerted. "Contaminated data. Aborting procedure."

"Override," Erik snapped, tapping at the keypads. "Identify contamination."

"Multiple individuals detected. Evidence of psychic tampering found."

"Identify the individuals," Erik ordered.

Three screens on the console before him filled with data. Leaning forward, Erik scanned his eyes over the details, deep creases forming in his pale brow. After a moment, he stood back and crossed his arms over his chest, speaking more to himself than to the computer.

"So, this is what that insufferable red-head has been up to. Going in all by herself... I would have thought she had more sense." 

He sneered with disdain, reaching for the the communications switch. 

"No doubt Charles will want to hear of this..."

*******

The goat stood in the sun just beyond the outskirts of the small wood that had originally marked the northern boundary of the extensive Xavier estate. It was a wild, overgrown place, seldom frequented because of its distance from the mansion. Most of the students preferred exploring the cultivated gardens and manicured grounds nearer to the school over trekking more than two miles (nearly five, counting the return trip) over such a hilly, rocky section of land. And it was quite a hike - unless, of course, one could teleport, or fly...

Ororo Munroe alighted on the thick, shaggy grass with a graceful dip of her knees, allowing them to absorb the slight impact. She stared straight ahead, straight-backed and motionless. The goat's large eyes twinkled with almost human satisfaction at the sight.

"This is the woman?" a deep, guttural voice growled from the shadows beneath the trees.

"She is," a serpentine, female voice confirmed. 

Turning his shaggy head in her direction, the goat stamped the ground three times with his left front hoof. The air around him began to shimmer and, with a swirl of orange energy, his form morphed and lengthened into the figure of a tall, well-muscled man. His dark, russet features were hard, his golden eyes as cold as his frown. His hair was short, thick, and black and, although he had no horns, his neat goatee, pointed ears, and spaded tail were more than enough to lend him a chillingly demonic air.

The tall, sinister man reached out a strong hand to guide a bald, waifish woman into the grassy clearing. Once free of the treeline's concealing shadows, her need for such guidance became gruesomely clear. The woman's eyes had been sewn shut with large, uneven stitches, the needle leaving horrific scars that had long since healed over, further sealing her eyelids closed. Despite her disfigurement, the woman's bearing was confident and composed as she traced her long, bony fingers down Ororo's unnaturally still face.

"The potential is there, my lord," she reported smugly. "Your intuition was flawless, as usual. Even given his present form, she cannot continue to deny her feelings for much longer."

"Thank you, Ginniyeh," the devilish man said and smiled, the expression making him seem even more menacing. "You see how well I know my son. We are not as dissimilar as he would like to believe." His smile twisted into a smirk, his smoldering eyes dark with memory. "We both harbor a weakness for powerful women."

He turned to the wood, snapping, "Ydrazil! Drop that squirrel and come here."

An enormous man with long, scraggly hair and a dirty eye patch shot a remorseful glance at the half-chewed rodent in his hands, but he obediently dropped it, wiping his thick hands on his stained tunic.

"Yes, my lord," he grunted, reaching into the leather pouch at his side and pulling out a surprisingly sophisticated-looking object roughly the size of a pen. "The device is loaded, just like you ordered."

"Hmm..." The demon snatched the object, examining it for himself. Slowly, a grudging smile spread over his chiseled features.

"Very good, Ydrazil," he acknowledged, and strode up to face the blankly staring Ororo. He took her chin in his hand, looking her up and down then staring deeply into her unseeing blue eyes. Nodding once in apparent satisfaction, the demonic man raised the small device to her temple and pressed his thumb against a black button on its side. There was a sound like a staple gun, then he pulled the device away, leaving a nearly unnoticeable, perfectly round bruise.

"Send her back now, Ginniyeh," he ordered, handing the device back to Ydrazil, who tucked it away. "Be sure she retains no memory of our little encounter here."

"She will remember nothing, my lord," the bald telepath assured him confidently. 

The devilish man watched in undisguised fascination as Ororo summoned a wind and used it to lift off the ground, flying back to the mansion without a sound. 

"My lord Azazel," Ginniyeh said, turning in his direction. "Please forgive the question, but since you continue to shield your thoughts from me I have no recourse but to ask. I still do not understand why you wished to tag that woman as you would one of your own children, or why you approached that other woman earlier today. The telepath."

Azazel raised an eyebrow, but did not shift his gaze from Ororo's rapidly diminishing form.

"I like to keep tabs on all my children," he said. "Not only on what they see and do, but on what others may say about them in their absence. Such information is particularly vital to me in this case. My son must be observed, his actions monitored. Hence, the microchip I just implanted beneath that woman's skin."

"And that Jean Summers woman?"

Azazel didn't answer, keeping his eyes fixed on the horizon. 

Ginniyeh scowled in frustration.

"My lord, you have never been so cryptic about your plans before," she pressed. "At least, not with me. You dealt with that insolent Kurt Wagner years ago. Why come here, to this time, just to—"

"Never fear, my dear Ginniyeh," the demon cut her off, turning to face her at last. His tone was conciliatory, but his golden eyes flashed dangerously. "My plans will become clear...in time."

*******

"Kurt, what are you doing?" Jean whispered, shooting an anxious look over her shoulder in the direction Azazel had gone. "Get back here!"

"This is a memory, Jean," Kurt said, crouching by his unconscious brother's side. "He's not coming back. Even that blasted bird has stopped squawking."

Jean felt a hot flush spread over her face. 

"Oh, right. In a link as deep as this, it's often easy to forget..."

Slowly, she left the safety of the corner to stand beside him, both of them looking down at Brunetto's still form. It was a long while before Kurt finally spoke.

"I can remember, Jean," he said softly, his voice strained. "It's just a few flashes but..." 

He looked up at her, pain filling his dark eyes. 

"He left me the same way. My fa— Azazel." 

He turned away, hiding his expression from view.

"I remember the pain," he whispered. "I was strapped to a table, screaming... And he just smiled. He laughed and walked away, leaving me alone to watch as my fingers split—"

He clenched his pale fist convulsively, swallowing hard as he lowered his head. Jean instinctively moved closer to him, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder. When Kurt didn't shrug her away, she risked a brief, supportive squeeze.

"You are starting to remember," she said gently. "These are your own memories, not what the monsters that did this to you implanted in your head. That's the first step to breaking free, Kurt, to beating Belasco once and for all."

"But he will still be there, Jean," Kurt retorted, the knuckles of his clenched fist beginning to whiten. "I know that now. Even if I do manage to take control from him, he'll still be hovering in the background, as much a ghost as I was."

He scowled, rising to his feet in one, fluid movement and crossing the room to the window. 

"No matter how hard I fight, I will never be rid of him."

Jean shook her head, her back to the motionless Belasco. 

"Listen to me, Kurt," she said firmly. "You don't have to fight him alone anymore. You're with your friends now, and we can help you. We understand that you can't be held accountable—"

Kurt raised his hand to cut her off, turning to face her with a shake of his head. But, whatever he was about to say died on his lips at the surreal sight of a ghostly Belasco coalescing over the still body of his unconscious former self.

"Jean - move!" Kurt shouted. "Now!"

Jean gave a start but, before she could turn to look behind her, a strong arm had her pinned, a clawed hand was at her throat, its tightening grip making her gag... 

"So, you thought you could hide her from me?" Belasco glared at Kurt, his voice like crackling ice in his captive's ear. "What are you supposed to be, anyway? One of those Hollywood 'actors' you used to idolize?" He snorted. "Idiot."

Kurt made to move forward, but Belasco used his tail to pull Jean closer.

"Don't even think about it, hero," the demon spat. "Like you, she's in my mind so deep that if I kill her here, she's dead. You are both my prisoners now."

Kurt shot him a diamond-hard glare, his jaw working in silent fury as his mind ran through his options. Jean's features were beginning to purple, her green eyes wide as she struggled for breath...

"All right!" he exclaimed fiercely, raising his hands above his head. "We're your prisoners. I surrender, is that what you want to hear? Now, let go of her."

"It's a start." 

Belasco smirked, loosening his grip on Jean's throat only enough so she could breathe more easily, her purpling face fading slowly back to flushed red.

"I must admit, this was much easier than I had expected," the demon remarked. "Should I be on my guard for some sort of trap here, or were you really so moved by my oh-so-dramatic," he paused, as if searching for the right word, "...metamorphosis..." he grinned, "that you allowed your guard to drop?"

Kurt kept silent, his narrow features set. 

The demon's grin broadened. 

"I'm touched," he said, his tone laced with irony. "But, of course, your concern is completely wasted. My father gave me exactly what he had promised. And now, the knowledge of the natural and the supernatural belongs to me."

"You're a fool," Kurt snapped. 

The demon glared at him, bearing his fangs as he tightened his grip on Jean's neck once more.

"What did you just say?"

"I said you're a fool," Kurt repeated in the same harsh tone. "Azazel used you, and you walked right into his arms. You betrayed Beatrice's trust and friendship in return for an eternity as his slave."

Belasco's expression slackened for one shocked moment, then his russet features contorted with irrational fury. Throwing Jean to the floor, he lunged at Kurt with a ferocious cry.

"How dare you speak her name!" the livid demon roared. "You are not worthy to even hear it spoken, you freak!"

"Are you speaking of me, or yourself," Kurt retorted, meeting his wild lunge with a sharp knee to the gut. Belasco doubled over with a gasp, the hateful glare he shot at Kurt making Jean shiver, even as she leaned against Brunetto's cluttered desk, gasping to recover her breath.

"You didn't kill Beatrice, did you," Kurt snarled with an uncharacteristic sneer, his eyes dark with loathing. "You just accepted the blame because of your guilt over the way you had set her up. You led Azazel right to her, and he left you alone - trapped in the body of a freakish, red-skinned monster. Alone, to take the blame for her rape and resulting murder. All these years, her death has tortured you, eating you up inside. So, you took it out on me, and on all those other X-Men you tortured and killed in that forsaken fire-pit you had the dubious honor of calling your 'realm'."

The wrath slowly faded from Belasco's narrow face as he gingerly straightened back to his full height, stepping forward in his red-leather boots to look Kurt straight in the eye. Kurt met his stare without blinking, his disguised features hard and determined. After a long moment, Belasco looked away; a small, humorless laugh rising in his throat.

"Now who is the fool?" he said with a contemptuous smirk. "Perhaps you thought you could wound me with your words? Take advantage of my weakness?" 

His golden eyes darkened as he took a step closer to Kurt, who kept to his position beside the window. They stood practically nose to nose; two silhouettes looming against the sunset sky.

"You forget, mein Herr," Belasco hissed in mocking parody of Kurt's faint accent, "a demon has no conscience to prick. The 'power' I gained from that bargain was more than worth the cost of a single life. And now, Beatrice's twin children serve my father as two of his most loyal subjects...apart from me of course." 

A cold smile stretched over his crimson face, but it brought no light to his chilling eyes. 

"I feel no guilt over anything I have done. Nor over what I am about to do to you and your nosy friend right now."

Belasco snapped his fingers, breaking into a maniacal laugh as the cramped, medieval laboratory vanished in a rush of reeking flames. 

Jean cried out in alarm as a lapping tongue of greenish fire spurted up beside her, singing her short hair.

"Jean!" Kurt exclaimed, torn between rushing to her aid and keeping Belasco in his sights. The demon's bone-chilling laughter seemed to be everywhere at once, mingling with the roar of the flames and the loud rumbling from the ground quaking violently beneath their feet. 

Belasco raised his one arm in a powerful thrust, and a sharp precipice of rugged stone shot up into the air, carrying him to a majestic obsidian throne high above...

"Once and for all, you will learn who is the master here," the demon proclaimed, the flames casting his face into shadow while highlighting his glowing, yellow eyes with their sickly light. "You will see how the Lord of Limbo deals with those who would defy him."

"The 'former' lord," Kurt retorted, reaching down to help Jean to her feet as the ground began to settle. "If I recall correctly, you were kicked out of Limbo by your own apprentice weren't you. A teenaged girl named Illyana Rasputin."

Belasco roared in fury, the walls of greenish flame flaring up in a reflection of his outrage. Kurt found himself trapped in a metal cage, suspended in the air beside Belasco's enormous throne. Looking down, he saw Jean standing in a rapidly shrinking circle of white-hot fire. Kurt could tell it was taking all her psychic energy to keep from being broiled alive. She couldn't keep it up much longer...

"You won't be able to rid yourself of us so easily, Belasco," he yelled over the crackling flames, trying to distract the demon's attention from Jean long enough to enable her to build a psychic shield around herself.

"Why not?" the demon asked, his face twisting into a maliciously triumphant grin as he turned to face his helpless half-brother. "We're playing by my rules, not yours. Here, whatever I say must come to pass." 

He laughed again; a horrible, gloating sound. 

"You may have managed to wrestle control from me once, Kurt Wagner, but let's see how long you can last, cast adrift on the midden mire."

"Nein..." 

Kurt concentrated as hard as he could on teleporting himself out of the doorless cage, on reaching Jean before it was too late...but some force was stopping him, a force he didn't know, couldn't fight. He tried again, and again, but his efforts only made Belasco laugh harder. Shooting him one last, victorious grin, Belasco snapped his fingers. 

A flash of crimson smoke, and Kurt and his cage were hurtling head-long into howling chaos, leaving Belasco to turn his full attention to his remaining victim.

To Be Continued...


	14. Chapter 13

…Monster…

…Demon…

…Freak…

Harpy-like voices shrieked all around him, ghostly fingers clawing, tearing at his skin, rocking his narrow cage. Distorted faces mocked and teased him; warped grins, derisive laughter and terrified screams.... 

Rain fell, neverending: black and slick and cold. The biting, howling wind blew the harsh taunts around and through him, their icy barbs piercing his heart.

…Mutant…

…Teufel…

…Mörder…

He was alone, abandoned. A prisoner in a cage, condemned to serve an eternal sentence. The swirling mists of the midden mire had stolen the details of his crime, leaving only searing guilt and the impression of a horrible wrong. He felt he had been running, running…running from something. There was intense pain and panic - a blinding, animalistic terror...

Whatever he had done, however it had happened, he knew he had earned this fate. His punishment was just.

If he could only remember his name…

*******

"You called me just in time, old friend," Xavier said, glancing up at Erik. He carefully removed the sleek helmet from his bald head, the holographic interpretation of Belasco's fiery relam fading out with an imploded flash to reveal Cerebro's curved, metallic walls. "Another minute and it would have been too late. As it is, I think Jean will now be able to keep Belasco distracted long enough for me to find Kurt."

"You sound so sure of that," Scott said angrily, Ororo standing grimly by his side. "But, Jean was nearly burnt out when we arrived here. Belasco was about to—"

"I've strengthened her connection with her body and reestablished her escape route," Xavier explained brusquely, his hands flying over the keypads. Then he paused, offering Scott a reassuring look. "Jean will be able to pull herself out, Scott, but she knows our main concern must be finding Kurt. If he is lost, there's no way to stop Belasco from dominating once more."

Ororo furrowed her brow. 

"But, Charles, we have established it is _Kurt's_ mind, _Kurt's_ body down in our medbay. Genetic manipulation is one thing, but I don't understand... _Is_ it truly Belasco we are facing? If so, how could that monster even get into Kurt's head, let alone push Kurt's own personality aside like this?"

"'Ro's got a point," Scott said. "That creep Belasco was many things, but he wasn't a telepath."

"No, no he wasn't," Xavier said. "Nonetheless..."

Xavier sighed, and briefly closed his eyes. It was always hard to witness the scars of telepathic abuse, but this was something else. There were layers here, cruelly calculated machinations he had barely started to peel back...

"Kurt has been the victim of massive psychic tampering, Ororo," he explained, "deliberately performed by a master telepath. Whoever this telepath may be, I fear their powers must rival my own. Kurt's brain has been altered, 'rewired,' to support the implanted personality at the expense of his own. From what I'm seeing here, it's nothing short of a miracle he has been able to maintain enough of a sense of self to fight back at all. For all intents and purposes, the unique identity that was Kurt Wagner was 'erased' long ago. Look here."

He pulled up a colored diagram of a human brain with a few taps at the keypad. Ororo scooted past Scott to stand in the tight space between Erik and Charles.

"Note these even, orange lines," the Professor said, tracing a few of the straight, parallel stripes with his finger. "See how they stack together in very specific patterns? Now look here, at these green lines."

He traced one of the few craggy lines that shot through the orange stripes seemingly at random. 

"Very pretty," Ororo said, crossing her arms. "But what do they mean?"

"No living organism can have thought patterns this ordered and precise," Erik said, gesturing to the orange section of the diagram. "What we're seeing here is more like a computer program than the workings of a human brain."

"Precisely," Xavier agreed. "This energy pattern was designed to inhibit Kurt's control over his own mind by forcibly suppressing certain memories: splintering his identity, then overwriting it with a simulated personality."

"You mean Belasco," Scott said, and frowned. "So...Belasco is a simulation?"

"If we think of the human brain as a powerful computer, the metaphor of a painstakingly tailored, highly sophisticated computer virus may be a close enough comparison," Xavier allowed, ignoring the look Erik shot him. 

"Then, these orange lines represent that Belasco Virus," Scott said, "working to overwrite Kurt's personality according to its specifications."

"A gross oversimplification," Erik grunted. "But, close enough, I suppose."

"And the green lines?" Ororo said.

"Those are Kurt's thought patterns," Xavier said. "And, as you can see, they're getting weaker."

Ororo glared at the overwhelmingly orange diagram, her rising anger masking a deep fear she refused to show. 

"So," she said, "what can we do to help Kurt?"

"Despite the extensive damage the Belasco 'program' has caused, Kurt's personality has survived," the Professor. "It's likely his core memories, though badly fragmented, may have survived as well. It's just a question of retrieving and repairing the damaged 'files,' as it were."

"Like the way you can retrieve files from a computer's hard drive after they've been deleted," Scott said.

Xavier steepled his fingers in front of him. 

"In a sense…yes," he said. "If we're ever to have a hope of defragmenting Kurt's memory and reconstructing his mind, we're going to have to isolate the invasive 'Belasco Virus' and cage it off until we can find a way to safely destroy it without harming Kurt."

"And how do we do that?" Ororo demanded.

"I'm not entirely sure," Xavier admitted, and chewed his cheek for a moment, his eyes fixed on the monitor screens.

"Kurt's brain 'knows' how it is supposed to be configured," he said. "I can offer support from here, but he'll have to rediscover the configuration on his own."

He sighed, a bubble of shame rising in his chest.

"Right now, he's scattered: a fragmented psyche lost to chaos and uncertainty - what he calls the 'midden mire.' In order to regain his control, he's going to have to uncover and re-integrate his forcibly repressed and shattered memories into his consciousness. Until he has recovered his complete personality, Belasco will always have the upper hand. Jean has already helped him a great deal, even if she was unaware of it, but she has only started him in the right direction. What he needs now is careful guidance from a person he trusts implicitly."

Xavier turned slightly in his chair, looking up at Ororo with intense eyes. 

"And, I believe that person is you."

*******

Azazel smiled from his perch on the tree branch, his golden eyes fixed on his small wrist monitor. The chip he'd implanted beneath the weather witch's skin was transmitting perfectly, allowing him to see through her eyes, hear through her ears.

Xavier and the Munroe woman both wore ridiculous-looking silver helmets, preparing to link into Kurt's mind through the marvelous computer they called Cerebro. 

Azazel's smile stretched into a grin and he jumped to the ground, lashing his tail behind him to stretch out the kinks. 

His son's mind was well in hand. Now, it was time to see to his body. 

BAMF!

Birds fluttered, a wisp of smoke...

And, Azazel was gone.

*******  
…Monster…

…Demon…

Blank nothingness surrounded and clung to him like a plastic bag coated in glue. Here and there, ghostly swirls of freezing mist curled and floated; colorless flecks within an all-encompassing cloud. He felt drawn, fascinated by the shifting patterns of their whirling dance.

…Abomination…

The delicate wisps faded and a turquoise rain began, falling up from the clouds below him, the color alarming after so much blankness. 

He leaned against his narrow cage, stretching a hand through the bars. A crystalline droplet fell on his palm, and he kept very still, letting it weave and roll through his fingers of its own accord. The blue spread up his arm, deepening in color to shadowy midnight, then faded to smoke, leaving him empty, washed out...

Meaningless...

…Schreckgespenst…

…Ungeheuer…

…Alpdrücken…

It would be so easy to give into those painful taunts and let the clawing hands take him; to allow those harsh, mocking voices to sway him as they had so many times before. He was nothing, after all, a nameless monster, already lost... If he closed his eyes...leaned back into that cold, aching obscurity…

…Kurt…

What was that?

…Kurt?…

A new voice rose above the howling din deadening his ears, cutting through the caustic noise to slip straight into his heart.

…Kurt? Where are you?…

This voice was low and soft, deep, yet completely feminine. He pressed against the bars of his cage, straining to see through the searing blankness that enshrouded him.

There! The dancing mists were coalescing into human form, a form of sparkling light magnificent to behold. He held his breath, awed by the vision as it continued to solidify, turning from light to shadow to living, moving flesh and blood right before his eyes.

Had this vision come...for him? Was she truly there?

Once she had taken form, the dark skinned woman turned in a circle, taking stock of her surroundings. Her blue eyes fell on him almost immediately, and a warm smile graced a face he knew...a face, somehow, familiar...

"Kurt, we've found you!"

"O-Ororo?"

Speaking the name streamed a burst of sunlight through the mist, bringing with it a myriad of images and emotions, a wild torrent of memory too strong for the narrow cage to hold. The bars burst open and Kurt stepped through, colorless eyes wide as he drank in her presence. He reached out a gray, tentative hand to touch her cheek, but pulled back with a jolt before making contact.

"You can't be here," he whispered, dreading that his words were true. "This must be a dream, or a trick of some kind…"

Ororo shook her head, a lock of snow-white hair falling over her shoulder. 

"No trick, my friend," she assured him, stepping forward to take his hand. "I am as real as you are. I've come to help you."

Kurt stared at their linked hands, and he remembered... He remembered her friendly touch, so natural; remembered secretly admiring the contrast of milk chocolate against indigo… Slowly, he raised golden eyes to meet hers, tilting his head slightly in curiosity.

"Help me how?" he asked.

"I am to be your guide - to help you help yourself."

Kurt furrowed his brow. 

"You never used to be so cryptic," he said with the smallest of smiles. "Why don't you just say what you mean?"

Ororo brought her hand to his cheek, his velvet fur, touched beyond words to see his natural color returning, to see her dear friend looking so much like his old self...

"Break yourself out of this place, Kurt," she said, "and you'll begin to understand. Once we're out of here, we can talk as plainly as you wish."

Kurt's eyes narrowed, uncomprehending.

"...Out...? Out...where?"

"Take me somewhere familiar," she said. "To the place you remember best. The place where you felt safest."

"Safe...?"

Ororo stepped closer to him, holding his eyes with her gaze.

"I trust you, Kurt," she told him, her voice solemn and sincere. "Do you trust me?"

Kurt blinked his golden eyes, then straightened. 

"Implicitly, meine Dame," he said with a courtly bow, sweeping the hazy ground with a playful flourish. Then he sobered, his expression darkening.

"You do realize the danger, don't you," he said. "The midden mire is not to be traversed lightly. One strong gust, and we could both lose our minds."

Ororo looked affronted. 

"What kind of guide would I be if I allowed something like that to happen," she said. "I told you that I'm here to help, but if you want that help you'll have to be prepared to take some things on faith."

A broad smile spread slowly across Kurt's face, brightening his eyes with humor and affection.

"Faith I can do, Liebchen," he said. "Take my hand. We'll be out of this place before you can say klitzekleine Kinder können keinen Kirschkern knacken!"

Ororo blinked. 

"What?"

Kurt chuckled, privately adoring the befuddled look on her face. 

"Just a tongue twister, meine Liebe. You can say Peter Piper, if you prefer. Either way, we're busting out of here. Let's go!"

*******

The journey through the midden mire was more difficult than Kurt had anticipated. Ororo's hand was like a leaden weight, threatening to pull him down, down through the howling mists, but he never once considered letting her go. Horrible, ghostly voices screeched past them, shunting them from here to there, laughing in mocking derision as they tore at his soul with words. Still, he held on, kicking his way ever upwards, pulling Ororo with him as he swam against the rushing current of loathing and hate.

There was a light up ahead - dim and hazy, but warm and real. Kurt swam for it with all his might, using his free hand to sweep aside the roiling fog.

His fingers rammed into something solid. He winced in pain, stopping their progress and turning to Ororo, floating like an angel in the nothingness beside him.

"I can't get us through," he said. "There's some kind of barrier in the way."

"What is a barrier to a teleporter?" she asked reprovingly. "I thought nothing could hold you if you did not want to be held."

"A teleporter?" Kurt repeated quietly, narrowing his eyes as he struggled to remember. "Yes… I think I was a teleporter once… It was so...so very long ago..."

Ororo's frown melted, softening her eyes. 

"Kurt," she said, "can you remember the first time you teleported? Not the first time your power manifested, but the first time you teleported on purpose, just for the fun of it?"

Kurt ran an agitated hand through his hair. 

"I—I don't know…"

Ororo clutched his hand tighter. 

"Please, Kurt, try? It's the only way you can get us out of here."

"But the voices," Kurt said, suddenly looking very small: a child with wide, frightened eyes. "If they find out I can teleport, they'll think I'm a demon for sure. They'll try to kill me!"

Ororo made to move closer, then stopped short, staring around with wide, amazed eyes. 

The nothingness had faded away, leaving them inside a sawdust-covered circus ring. Kurt stood beside her: a skinny, fourteen-year-old boy, staring up at the trapeze platform high, high above. He wore a tight costume she had never seen before, sparkly blue with golden wings sewn across the chest. 

As Ororo watched, the bleacher seats surrounding the ring filled with ghostly faces and a bright spotlight flashed on, causing all eyes to turn to Kurt. It was all very disconcerting and, for a moment, Ororo wasn't sure how to react. Then, she felt the Professor nudging at the back of her mind, and she knew what she needed to say.

She bent down beside the frightened boy, leaning in until her lips almost brushed his pointed ear. 

"They won't fear you," she whispered, "if they think it's all part of the show."

Kurt turned his head to face her, a familiar confidence spreading over his impossibly young features as he took her hand firmly in his and gave it a brief squeeze.

"And now," came an announcer's voice, echoing over the heads of the spectral crowd, "the Szardos Bavarian Circus is proud to present - in his first solo performance - the Amazing Blue Lightening!"

Kurt grimaced slightly, but the excitement and anticipation of performing did not fade from his golden eyes. 

"Kind of a hokey stage name, nein?" he said in his reedy, young voice. "I changed it to Nightcrawler after we joined the Munich Circus." 

He looked up at her, nervous, but ready as the band sounded his cue. 

"Hold tight, now," he said with a rather shaky laugh. "I've never done this with another person before."

And suddenly, Ororo realized: this seemingly inexplicable scene was the memory she'd asked for. This performance was the first time Kurt had used his powers for his own enjoyment, without fear.

The young teenager led her out into the spotlight and bowed to the cheering crowd. Then, he turned to her, and Ororo found herself looking into the familiar, handsome features of the adult Kurt she had known for so long. Without a word, he pulled her into a tight embrace, twining his tail securely around her waist. Then, with an upwards glance and a quick, whispered prayer, he activated his power.

BAMF!

To Be Continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This chapter is related to the early chapters of my story "Small Steps, Great Leaps." I didn't make up the tongue twister, but I did make up Kurt's childhood stage name and costume, Azazel's microchip spying, and all that 'computer virus' stuff, mostly because I like making up scifi technobabble better than making up sorcery stuff. :)
> 
> Translation:  
> Klitzekleine Kinder können keinen Kirschkern knacken - Little kids can't crack cherry pits.


	15. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Sorry this update took so long! I'm heading home for the summer soon, and I have tons and tons of preparing and packing to do, but I'd like to get another chapter up before I go. Stay Tuned, and thanks so much for reading! :)

Ororo knew everything she saw and experienced while linked in with Charles and Cerebro only existed in Kurt's mind - even the image of Kurt himself. The man she held in her arms, the man who held her so securely in his, was a subconscious projection...the 'self' one knows in dreams... The _real world_ Kurt Wagner lay unconscious in the medbay. 

Yet, the experience of teleporting with him, jaunting through the screeching coldness of the midden mire... It was as real as anything she had ever felt. The warmth of his body, the strength in his arms and tail…the sickening vertigo of teleportation...these were not mere illusions. 

She squeezed her eyes closed, burying her face in his fuzzy neck in a vain attempt to stave off the nausea. Kurt smelled just as she remembered, warm and musty with a sharp undercurrent of strong soap.

That made her smile. Kurt had always been so self-conscious about the smell his teleporting left behind, secretly terrified that the reek of brimstone lingered in his fur. And it did, but only very slightly. Ororo had never admitted it aloud, but she'd always rather liked the way he smelled.

She took in another discreet breath, her mind filling with warm memories…strolling through her garden in the moonlight as they talked over their latest assignments; sitting on his bed as he told her colorful tales of his years with the circus; the priceless look on his face when she sprayed him with the hose in an uncharacteristic fit of childish silliness; the security of his arms as he held her close in the elevator, soothing her claustrophobia with the kind words of friendship... She had missed that, missed _him_ for so long until now, suddenly, Ororo felt a strange, irrational wish to melt into his arms and never let him go again...

Despite Kurt's obvious difficulty getting them through whatever metaphysical barrier stood in their way, the turbulent teleport took barely a handful of seconds to complete. All too soon, Ororo felt Kurt's embrace loosen, and she stepped away, quickly schooling her features into a mask of professionalism. 

Kurt needed her to be strong. If she allowed her confusing emotions to distract her from her duty as a guide, it was frighteningly possible she would lose her friend all over again - this time for good. So, instead of praising him for the way he'd broken them away from that ensnaring realm of howling chaos, she took a moment to drink in their new surroundings.

They stood in the center aisle of a very small, very ancient stone church. A round, stained-glass window at the back cast colored shadows across the worn floor stones, and a very ornately carved wooden crucifix hung over the meticulously kept marble altar. A highly polished, upright piano stood in the space just below the altar, opposite a stone basin of holy water. The remaining windows were small and narrow, and the thick, wooden rafters that made up the ceiling sloped to a sharp peak. A glass display case filled with archaeological artifacts uncovered on church grounds lined the wall beside the only door that led outside, and the double rows of hard, wooden pews strewn with dog-eared hymnals made the small space seem full even though she and Kurt were the only ones there.

"Where are we?" Ororo asked, feeling uncomfortably out of place in the oddly occupied atmosphere of this empty church. Even her voice sounded muffled.

Kurt didn't answer.

Ororo turned to face him, only to gasp in alarm.

Kurt crouched on the last pew, his shoulders hunched and his head down. His colorful, threadbare clothes were torn and stained; his fur and hair matted with mud, grass...and what looked like blood. 

Ororo rushed to his side.

"Bright Goddess!" she exclaimed. "Kurt, what is this? What happened? Are you all right?"

Kurt didn't look at her. He just kept staring at his bloodstained hands, his golden eyes wide with shock and pain. When he spoke, his voice was haunted, distant. The sound of it chilled Ororo straight through to her marrow.

"I—I had to stop him. I _had_ to. I'd gotten the knife away from him…everything should have been OK. But he…he punched me, lunged for the knife… What else could I do? God help me, Father, what else could I have done!"

Ororo spun around, but no priest was there. Only her and him and whatever horrible memory was eating at his tortured soul. Slowly, Ororo crouched down beside him, gently taking one of his scratched, blood-matted hands in hers.

"Kurt," she said softly, "tell me why you brought me here. What did you want me to see?"

Kurt's breath hitched, his shoulders trembling as his golden eyes filled with tears.

"I used to feel so safe here," he whispered hoarsely, choking back his sobs. "The monks at Neuhertzel had always been so kind to me. After our circus was bought by that millionaire Texan, they gave me a place to stay. Sabu…" He swallowed hard and shook his head. "Sabu was d-dead, and Amanda couldn't leave with me, so the monks let me live in their monastery while I searched for my brother. And they were the only ones I could come to after…" 

He turned his head to the wall, hunching himself into an even tighter ball.

"...after I found him."

He shivered, his eyes closing against the pain as he struggled to go on. 

Ororo lowered her head in understanding, her thumb soothingly stroking the back of his fuzzy hand.

She knew this memory now...the tragic events that had first brought Kurt in contact with the X-Men. After the man who'd bought his circus threatened to put him in the freak show, the nineteen-year-old Kurt had left the only home, the only family he'd ever known and gone off in search of his older foster brother, Stefan Szardos, who had left the circus several years earlier. He'd found him some weeks later just a few short miles from the monastery at Neuhertzel, living in the small, isolated town of Winzeldorf.

At first, their reunion had been wonderful, but Kurt soon began to notice something…off…about his brother. Stefan seemed unnaturally obsessed with the mysterious string of child murders that had been taking place in the area, and would talk of little else. He seemed oddly frenzied, even manic, and would disappear for hours at a time...

Kurt had tried to rationalize his anxieties, unable to consider, let alone believe, that his big brother, the boy who'd taught him how to fish and how to fight, who'd looked out for him all through their childhood...that he could possibly...

But, as the days passed, Stefan's words and actions became more and more peculiar. He started ranting openly in front of him, claiming the victims weren't children at all, but demons in disguise. Frightened, Kurt began to track his brother's movements, just praying he could prove his suspicions were wrong...

One night, he followed Stefan to a cemetery. He climbed a tree and settled in for another night of watching his brother pace and rant...but this time, something was different. Someone was there. A small child, lost and dirty... Stefan pulled a long knife from his coat, but before he could strike, Kurt leaped to the child's defense, grappling with his raving brother for control of the weapon. The brothers punched and rolled, kicked and flailed, but Kurt finally managed to grab the knife with his tail and toss it out of his brother's reach. Stefan socked him across the jaw and dove for the knife. Kurt lunged after him, kicking his brother hard in the chest. The force of the blow hurled Stefan backwards like a rag doll, against a low gravestone, snapping his neck. He was dead by the time his brother reached him.

Kurt fell into an awful, disassociated shock, appalled and sickened by what he'd done. He'd fled the scene, but soon returned, resolved to take his brother's body home and explain what had happened to his mother and sister. He had found the knife in the grass and was leaning down to lift his brother in a fireman's carry, when a groundskeeper spotted him. Misunderstanding his posture and intentions, the old man called an alarm. Before he knew it, Kurt was under attack by an infuriated mob, all accusing him of being a child-murdering demon. If Professor Xavier hadn't turned up in time to stop them, Kurt would never have escaped alive. His mother and sister had later forgiven him for Stefan's death, and he'd sought absolution from his church, but Ororo knew Kurt had never managed to forgive himself.

"I always loved this place," Kurt whispered against his knees. "I never felt more protected than I did while I was here. This monastery was a place of peace, of study and contemplation devoted to charitable works and the simple love of God. And, once I left, it was only to find a world of violence and hatred…a world I've never been able to escape from since."

"Is that why you chose to come here, Kurt?" Ororo asked. "To escape?"

Kurt regarded her with dim, hollow eyes, then rose to his feet, pacing up the aisle until he stood before the altar, staring up at the large, ornate crucifix.

"I killed my brother, Ororo," he said bluntly. "I was a murderer in my own right before I'd even heard of Belasco. I've harmed so many people in my life... Since joining the X-Men, I led a life of violence and bloodshed. I called myself a righteous crusader, convinced myself I fought in the name of peace, for rights and justice, yet how often did I allow anger to influence my actions?"

He sniffed sharply and roughly rubbed his eyes, his features clenching in anguish. 

"Xavier's words seem so hollow now," he whispered, "seeing them from this darker side of the looking glass. I never should have left Neuhertzel."

His shoulders hunched and he turned his face in shame from the crucifix on the wall. 

Ororo started to move toward him, then froze in place, staring in horror as the red blood that dripped from Kurt's thick fingers began to pool up his arms and down his torso, altering his clothes and features as it spread. 

"No..." she gasped. "No, Kurt...!"

But, he continued speaking, unmindful of the terrible transformation taking place.

"I know now that the old saying is true," he ground out, his voice low and harsh with bitterness. "It was my good intentions that set me on this path to Hell."

"Kurt, stop this!" Ororo cried out, rushing to take him by the shoulders. She gasped in alarm as she felt that, beneath his long, red cloak, his right arm was now missing. 

The russet-skinned demon sneered at her expression.

"Stop what?" he snapped, gesturing fiercely with a five-fingered hand to his horns and spaded tail. "This is who I am, Ororo. This is what I always was. It doesn't matter whether I kill Belasco or Belasco kills me. In the end, we're both guilty of the same crime."

"You know it's not the same thing, Kurt," Ororo protested angrily. "And Stefan's death was an accident! He was the aggressor. You never meant for him to die!"

"Do you think that matters?" he snarled, his golden eyes narrowed into cold slits. "The fact is that he is dead, and at my hand. God's law commands that we shall not kill. It doesn't say 'you shall not kill unless it's in self defense or in defense of another'. Adding addendums to rules that don't suit you only provides justification for the very crimes you hoped to prevent!"

Ororo shook her head in frustration. 

"The act itself does not constitute guilt unless done with a guilty intent," she said, echoing a quote projected by Charles's own frustration. "Actus reus non facit reum nisi mens sit rea. You said yourself, Kurt, it was not _your_ intentions that led us here."

"Perhaps not," Kurt retorted. "But those actions, and their effects, remain my responsiblilty." 

Ororo sighed, and ran a hand through her long, white hair. The Professor's presence itched at the back her mind, urging her to press harder, to cut through this protective rigmarole of constructed blocks and excuses to find a deeper blackness, the festering pain his unconscious was struggling so hard to conceal.

"We're wasting time with this argument," she said sharply, advancing on him with such purpose that he actually took a step back. "There's something else here. Something beyond your brother, and even Belasco. It's a gnawing guilt that you refuse to acknowledge, even though it is eating your soul alive."

Kurt stared at her in confusion, backing up even further.

"What is it Kurt?" Ororo pressed, getting right up in his face. "What is it that you did that's so terrible you can't bring yourself to remember it, even now?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Kurt snapped back, baring his teeth in a defensive snarl. "I already told you why I deserve this fate—"

"No, you haven't," Ororo countered. "You haven't given me a single good reason why a man as decent, as caring, as forgiving as you should be condemned to this half-life, controlled by some heartless demon who should have died centuries ago!"

" _I murdered my brother!_ " Kurt screamed in raw anguish, the veins in his neck close to popping. "I used my power to teleport myself away from the Gray Gargolyle's grasp, when I should have tried to get my team out instead! I stood by while Belasco used my body to torture and maim X-Men from dozens of alternate realities. I watched him kill _you_ again and again, Ororo, and rather than try to stop him, I slipped away into my subconscious, hiding like a craven coward from your screams and from the screams of everyone else I held dear. Logan, Scott, Jean, Hank, the Professor, Rachel…even Kätzchen! I was the instrument Belasco used to achieve your deaths, a willing slave to the Lord of Limbo! _Your blood is on my hands!_ "

Ororo raised her chin, her blue eyes sharp as she replayed the start of Kurt's outburst in her mind. He had mentioned the Gray Gargoyle, his last mission before his capture... 

Could that be it? Could there be a connection between that mission and the memory the Professor had sent her to find, the one the demons had repressed, shattering his psyche so the implanted Belasco personality would have a chance to take root?

The Professor was still urging her to press harder. They were getting close, but Kurt was still fighting to keep the painful memory buried. She would have to push him to his limit, squeeze him into such a tight corner that remembrance would be his only way out. 

Reassuring herself that this harsh approach would ultimately help Kurt to heal, Ororo continued her attack with renewed passion.

"That's still not good enough!" she snapped, fixing Kurt with her most imperious glare. Her eyes whitened and her hair began to rise as she menaced him back against the worn basin of holy water. "None of that was your fault, Kurt, especially Belasco's crimes against the X-Men! They were all forced on you by Azazel! He implanted Belasco's personality and memories into your mind without your consent—"

"NO!" Kurt howled, his voice cracking as furious tears leaked from his burning eyes. "Ororo, you don't understand…!"

"What don't I understand, Kurt?" Ororo demanded, refusing to let up on him, even though the sight of him in tears threatened to tear her heart to shreds. "Tell me! Explain what happened to you after the Gray Gargoyle attacked."

Kurt shook his head, collapsing to the floor in soggy heap of misery and shame. Black tears as thick and slick as crude oil streamed down his russet cheeks, staining his cloak and collecting on the uneven stone floor in a viscous puddle. 

Ororo's heart jumped with alarmed concern at the startling sight, but the Professor seemed glad. ...At last...he seemed to whisper, his ghostly voice bending around the corners of her mind. At last, the painful memory that had been locked away for so long was starting its rise to the surface.

Ororo lowered herself to the floor beside her friend, reaching out with a tentative hand to gently touch his arm. He flinched away, but she only moved closer, wrapping her slender arms around him until he finally gave in to her tender embrace, pressing his horned head against her shoulder.

"My sweet Kurt," she sighed, brushing her lips against his pointed ear as she ran her fingers through his short, red hair. "It's time for the truth to come out. No matter what it reveals, I will never think any less of you. You know you can trust me."

Kurt pressed his nose against her snowy hair, breathing in the clean scent of her herbal shampoo as he struggled to control his wracking sobs. 

"With my life, Liebchen," he assured her, twining his tail loosely around her waist. "With my very soul."

*******

A soft sound disturbed the silence of the medbay...followed by a familiar sulfur scent...

Hank looked up from his office computer, his furry brow wrinkling in confusion - an expression that quickly turned to alarm when he saw two red-skinned demons standing in front of his desk.

"Oh, my stars and garters!" he exclaimed, jumping to his feet and backing up against his over-stuffed bookcase, his fingers searching for the silent alarm...

"And greetings to you, my good doctor," the taller of the two said, and smiled, his black goatee providing a disturbing border for his sharp, white fangs. "I see from your expression that you've guessed who I am, but I believe you have yet to meet my son." 

He gestured for the other demon to step forward. This one was clean-shaven, sporting meticulously styled red hair and a haughty expression that bordered on smarm.

"Henry McCoy," Azazel said with a theatrical flourish, "I'd like you to meet Mephistopheles."

"Mephisto," the red-haired demon offered politely, holding out a clawed hand for the doctor to take. 

Hank stared at it for a long moment, then looked into the demon's hard, aristocratic features with wary curiosity.

"Surely you're not the same Mephistopheles—"

"From the famous history of the damnable life and deserved death of Doctor John Faustus?" Azazel broke in, and laughed. "Please, Doctor. Not all my children have proved to be disappointments."

Hank narrowed his eyes. 

"If I remember my Goethe correctly," he said, "wasn't Faust redeemed in the end?"

Mephisto scowled darkly, and tucked his snubbed hand behind his back. 

"That is a lie," he growled. "No matter what Goethe may have written in his vaunted play, that fool Faustus paid for my services with his soul, just as we'd agreed. I escorted him to our dimension personally, where the renowned scholar now serves as one of my father's slaves in retribution for his hubris."

"Ah," Hank said with a nervous smile. "Then, I take it you prefer Christopher Marlowe's version of the story."

Mephisto's cold, amber eyes flashed, and he leaped up like a panther to crouch menacingly on Hank's desk, scattering his papers in all directions. 

"Are you mocking me, mutant?" he spat. 

Hank gave a startled, involuntary cry, falling into a defensive crouch of his own. 

Azazel held up his hands.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen, please!" he placated, though his eyes were dark with amusement. "We're wasting time."

Mephisto gracefully jumped down from the desk, his smug elegance barely masking the seething anger at his core. 

Azazel turned to Hank.

"I know you are holding my son, Kurt Wagner, in the other room," he said.

"Kurt Wagner is my patient, yes. And he's currently in terrible shape, no thanks to you," Hank said, and glared, rising to his feet and crossing his long arms over his thick chest. "His genetic code is in a state of violent flux, and he's in constant pain."

"I know that too," Azazel said calmly. "In fact, that's why we've come."

"Why?" Hank snapped. "To gloat?"

Mephisto stepped forward, but Azazel placed a hand on his shoulder, holding him back.

"Not quite." The demon smiled. "To help you restore your friend to his proper form. When my son awakens, I want it to be to his own face, his own body, and his own powers."

"Pardon my frankness, but I've never known either of you to be the...philanthropic sort," Hank said, trying his best to ignore Mephisto's freezing glare. "What's in this for you? Why would you go to all this trouble for a son who has repeatedly rejected you, your 'realm', and everything that you stand for?"

Azazel's thin lips twitched slowly upwards in a small smile that showed no teeth. Hank shuddered despite himself.

"Mephisto," the black-haired demon ordered, striding past Hank through the open door to the medbay, "hand me my plasmotic alternator. We have a great deal of work to do, and not much time in which to do it. Doctor McCoy," he called over his shoulder, "you can either stand there or you may assist us. It's up to you."

"Of course I'm assisting," Hank declared, heading the demonic mutants off before they reached Kurt's bed. "But I'll be damned if I'm going to let you two anywhere near my patient before you first give me a full and detailed account of exactly what you intend to do to him."

Azazel and Mephistopheles exchanged a look.

"We will provide you with a brief overview of the procedure," Azazel allowed. " _As_ we work. But I'd advise you to put more thought into how you phrase your thoughts from now on, Doctor." The demon smirked, his burning eyes cold. "The next time you threaten your own damnation, I just might take you up on it."

To Be Continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made up some of this backstory, but it's mainly based on the comics, and that includes Storm and Nightcrawler's affectionate relationship, which I adapted for this story. Belasco killed Sabu in "Excalibur #-1, Flashback: A True and Terrible Sacrifice." For more details on Neuhertzel, Winzeldorf, and Stefan's death, see "Giant Size X-Men #1: Second Genesis," "King-Size Annual X-Men #4: Nightcrawler's Inferno, Part the Second," (Ororo gives Kurt a birthday kiss in Part the First), the animated episode "X-Calibre" from "Wolverine and the X-Men," and the episode "Nightcrawler" from the "X-Men: The Legend of Wolverine" DVD.  
> Until next time! :)


	16. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SCENES OF DEATH AND VIOLENCE, INCLUDING THE SEVERANCE OF A LIMB. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

_Kurt stood with Ororo on the threshold of memory. It was like standing before an enormous movie screen, peering through an invisible divider to a completely different world just beyond. The sights, sounds, even smells of that past world flooded their senses, yet there remained a surreal feeling of separation. For this show, they were to be observers, protected by the distance of time. The participants were on the other side…_

The Gray Gargoyle's cave was far from the cold, desolate place Nightcrawler and his team had expected to find when they'd first received their assignment. The caverns they passed through were almost unbearably hot. Following the twisting, labyrinthine tunnels had led them dangerously close to what their scanners read as a magma pocket, far under the ground. Rivers of magma snaked by, splashing dangerously into fiery pools. 

Wolverine turned his head to shoot Nightcrawler a wry smirk.

"Kinda makes me wish we'd thought to bring some marshmallows, eh Elf?" he joked. 

Nightcrawler smirked back, but didn't respond in kind. 

"Call it a teleporter's intuition," he said, "but something about this sweltering cave is making my fuzzy skin crawl. Nothing about this has felt right from the start. The sooner we find the Gargoyle's weapons stash and leave, the better I'll like it."

"It isn't just you, Nightcrawler," Sage said, adjusting her hood over her dark hair. "I feel it too. And these awful cave spiders aren't helping matters." She shivered in disgust as she brushed one of the hairy arachnids from her shoulder.

Benny Salway, an eighteen-year-old trainee, winked his third eye, too excited to be out in the field to appreciate the more seasoned X-Men's concerns.

"Spiders don't bother me," he said brightly. "But, after all this walking, we've gotta be getting close. So, let's think: If I were a crazed stone Gargoyle bent on destroying all mutantkind, where would I hide my nuclear warheads?"

"When you figure it out, let us know," Sage snapped irritably. "In the meantime, I'll run a scan. The electromagnetic interference is weaker in here than it was outside, so our instruments should work."

"Good to know," Benny said, leaning in close to peer over her shoulder. 

Sage took a pointed step away from him, never pausing in her work. 

Melinda Blake, a raven-haired girl with creamy, lavender skin and ruby red eyes, flashed her classmate a warning glare. 

"What?" he said, shrugging her off as she pulled him aside.

"Knock it off, Benny," the nineteen-year-old fire manipulator warned. "This is our first real mission and I, for one, want to make a good impression. Or, do you want to be sent back to the jet?"

Benny snorted.

"What are you, like ten years old? We're X-Men now! Professionals! Professor X picked us for this mission for a reason. Mr. Wagner can't send us back now. ...Can he?"

Nightcrawler sighed, silently clenching his teeth as he watched the half-whispered exchange. Wolverine followed his gaze, his own features drawn tight.

"Not exactly the time and place to play babysitter," he grunted.

Nightcrawler shook his head, his long, spaded tail swaying behind him.

"I still cannot fathom what Herr Professor was thinking, assigning these two children to the team. While I agree the older students do need more real-world experience, I can think of any number of missions more suitable for training - and I argued this point repeatedly with Charles. I still can't believe he went over my head like this..."

"He has been on a stubborn kick lately," Wolverine agreed. "Goin' on about the students needing to face real adversity in order to 'move past perceived limitations' and 'live up to their full potential.' If I remember right, _you_ were just nineteen yourself when we went out on our first mission, and that was against some livin' island."

"I know, I know," Nightcrawler said. "But our circumstances were very different, Logan. You know very well that chronological age has little to do with life experience. Xavier's first few crops of X-Men, including you and I... We had lived a lifetime fending for ourselves in the outside world before Charles invited us to his school to train. Children like Melinda and Benny, though, they grew up sheltered within the institute's walls. Protected from the bitter winds that battered us. I believe Ororo put it well when she said that, without tempering, hothouse flowers tend to wither where wildflowers grow strongest. Benny and Melinda may have earned top grades in the classroom, but success with tactical models and Danger Room simulations, no matter how realistic, cannot guarantee how students will react to a real threat. For all their talent and potential, in this circumstance, I fear that Melinda's and especially Benny's classroom-bred arrogance and dangerous naiveté may make them more of a liability than an asset."

"I ain't arguin' with you, Elf," Wolverine said grimly. "It takes time to develop the chops for mission work. Charles wants these rookie kids to put that time in trailin' after the most elite teams, when they should be— Hold on... Scanner reads we're comin' up on somethin' new..."

Wolverine sniffed the air, moving cautiously ahead while Nightcrawler kept his sharp gaze fixed on the trainees. Benny was using his telekinesis to drop rocks into the nearest magma pool, while Melinda frantically lectured him, all but begging him to cut it out before someone noticed. 

Nightcrawler briefly closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the rough stone wall. He was going to have to talk with them before they could move on.

"Hey, Elf," Wolverine said quietly; he, Nightcrawler, and Sage forming a small cluster in the dimness. "We're in luck so far. The Gargoyle's been here, but not for the past few hours. If we work fast, we just might be able to pull this off before he comes back."

"I found another cavern twenty-six meters to the south-west," Sage reported. "There's a block of interference so thick even my equipment back home couldn't pierce it. That must be where he's storing the weapons."

Kurt nodded, all business. 

"Then that's where we're going. Just give me a moment," he said, indicating Melinda and Benny.

Sage grunted, snapping her scanner closed and reattaching it to her utility belt.

"This is ridiculous," she said. "Look at them. How nervous they are. How young!"

Wolverine gave the air a quick sniff. 

"They're scared, all right," he agreed, "but they're tougher than they look. I may not agree with Chuck's decision to stick us with them, but I do know this."

He turned to face Nightcrawler, looking him straight in the eye. 

"Don't pull the reigns too tight on 'em," he said. "Give 'em their head room. They might be green, but they need to know we have confidence in them - 'specially you, 'Crawler, since you're the leader." He shrugged. "Who knows," he said, a strange gleam softening his flinty eyes. "They just might surprise you. Like you surprised me, kid, way back when you were nothin' more than a circus-boy show-off."

Nightcrawler smirked at his friend, and strode over to Benny and Melinda. They jumped when they saw him approaching, halting their bickering and coming to attention at once. Nightcrawler resisted the urge to roll his eyes heavenward, even though with his solid yellow corneas they probably wouldn't have been able to tell anyway.

"We think we've located the warheads," he said, keeping his voice low in the echoing cave, "and we're about to move out. Before we go, though, I want you to keep some things in mind." 

He took a breath, trying to think how best to phrase what he wanted to say.

"I know you've been training for this mission a long time," he told them, "but this isn't a Danger Room simulation. If something goes wrong, I don't want to see any bravado or heroics. Our goal is to locate the warheads, render them inoperable, and get our tails back home - hopefully without being discovered. We don't want to have to say here a moment longer than necessary, so I'm going to need you both to stay focused. So far, you've been doing very well, but keep in mind that we don't know enough about the Gargoyle to predict his actions. There could be any number of booby traps between us and those warheads, so keep your guard up. OK?"

The two teenagers straightened in acknowledgement, suddenly serious under the weight of their leader's stern, golden gaze.

"Yes, sir," they chorused softly.

Satisfied, Nightcrawler turned to Wolverine, who nodded with the smallest of smiles. Nightcrawler returned the nod, then silently indicated that his friend should take the rear, where he would best be able to alert them if someone - or something - approached. Sage took the lead with her scanner.

The small group reached the cavern Sage had indicated with no trouble. While this relieved the trainees, it only increased Kurt's uneasiness. Especially when they found the five warheads stored in plain sight, just behind a thick, fang-like stalagmite that was standing like a pillar beside the cavern's only entrance. Rows upon rows of pointed stalactites hung from the ceiling, giving the gray, shadowy space an eerie resemblance to the inside of a shark's mouth.

"Blast," Sage snarled, giving her scanner a good whack. "It's the interference. My equipment's gone dead again."

"Wolverine," Kurt said, a cold chill starting in his stomach, "can you tell if these warheads are active?"

Wolverine inspected each of the weapons in turn while Sage searched the walls for a hidden control panel or anything that could be causing the interference that was blocking her scanners. Benny and Melinda took up positions at either side of the entrance, keeping a sharp lookout.

"You're not going to believe this," Wolverine growled after several long minutes, "but not only are these things not active, I don't think they're even real."

"Was?" Kurt gasped, a shiver of apprehension snaking up his spine. Suddenly, this was no longer a straight-forward mission. If these warheads were fake, that meant the Gargoyle's threats had been a ruse to lure them this cavern. But for what purpose…?

"Wait a minute," Benny exclaimed, obviously annoyed. "Do you mean this whole thing was a bluff? I can't believe this! My first actual mission and it turns out to be a false alarm!"

"Shut up, Benny!" Melinda said, her large eyes darting to the shadows at the far end of the cavern. "The mission's not over yet. Did you just see that?"

"See what?" Sage asked, coming up beside the teenagers, her dark eyes sharp and her expression wary.

"Back there," Melinda said, pointing. "I thought I saw something move. It looked like…"

She trailed off with an uncertain glance to Nightcrawler.

"Like what?" Sage prompted. 

Melinda looked sheepish.

"Well, it was probably just Nightcrawler's shadow," she mumbled, flushing deeply. "I mean, no offense, but there aren't many other people out there with tails like yours, Herr Wagner."

"You'd be surprised, kid," Logan grumbled dryly as he sniffed the air. He bared his teeth, his senses on full alert.

"What is it?" Melinda asked, her eyes wide with apprehension.

"That ain't no shadow you saw, girlie," the Wolverine growled softly, clenching his fists in anticipation of a fight. "There's four of 'em, 'Crawler. Back there, in the shadows. Three men, one woman. And the Gargoyle's with them."

"Lieber Gott, it's a trap," Kurt announced with deep conviction, his tail twitching behind him. There was something evil out there, something immensely powerful pulsing at him, pulling at him…a cool, reptilian voice whispering softly at the corners of his mind. Whoever was lurking in those shadows, they were after blood. He wasn't sure how or why he could be so certain, but Kurt knew better than to question the warning in his heart. If he didn't get his team out of this cavern immediately, they were never getting out. Wolverine could have his fight another day.

"We've got to get back to the jet," Kurt said, his words clipped. "Now."

"What? Why?" Benny asked. "What's going on?"

Before anyone could speak, something small and fast whistled past the teen's nose. Kurt gave a short cry of alarmed pain, clapping a hand to his neck.

"A dart," he exclaimed, pulling the tiny needle from his neck as quickly as he could, praying the tip wasn't poisoned or drugged. The movement at the back of the cave was more apparent now. The demonic silhouettes were slinking closer. With his night vision, Kurt could just make out the russet hue of the tallest shadow's smooth skin, the lines of his narrow face. He knew those proud, aristocratic features…so familiar yet so foreign. 

Somehow, Azazel had found a way to return to Earth.

"Run," Nightcrawler ordered his team, his accented voice sharp with command. "Back the way we came. Schnell!"

There was no hesitation. Kurt again took the rear as his team began racing back toward the magma river. Barely had they gone ten feet, however, when a deep, chilling voice barked out a strange incantation. A powerful forcefield leaped up in front of them, so close the five of them collided full force with the shimmering wall of orange energy. Lightening bolts of agony tore through their spasming muscles as their own momentum threw them back into the dim cavern - winded, aching, and half-paralyzed. It was from this prone, helpless position that the five X-Men got their first real glimpse of the Gray Gargoyle.

The Gargoyle was a squat, thickset figure with leathery skin as thick and tough as a rhino's. His blunt, square face was like a mask, his expression hard and cold as stone, but his small, piggish eyes burned with an icy flame. He loomed over the X-Men like a deadly specter; his leathery, bat-like wings spread wide in a predatory posture that radiated menace.

"Why…why did you bring us here?" Kurt rasped, gasping with effort and pain as he struggled to turn his head towards Azazel. To his shock, the demon was no longer there. Nor were his shadowy companions. Only the Gray Gargoyle remained, his cold eyes now focused on Kurt.

"I'm sure the Master has his reasons," the Gargoyle spoke slowly in a deep, rumbling bass, causing Benny to release an embarrassing, involuntary whimper. "But mine are simple. I was promised the full return of my senses if I carried out a certain number of tasks. Already, I have regained my hearing. By destroying you, my sense of touch and taste will be restored."

He sighed, his stony face nearly wistful as his eyes unfocused. "It has been centuries since I have last been able to feel the rock beneath my feet, to taste the pale fish that swim in the lightless lakes. The death of five strangers is well worth the prize. But do not worry," he assured them, his gravely voice taking on an eerie sort of kindliness, "the end will be swift, and if you remain still there will be no pain."

Wolverine glared, baring his teeth at the Gargoyle from the cave's uneven floor. 

"So," he snarled, "you're tellin' me that you can't feel nothin'? Not even if you stepped into one of those magma pools out there?"

"It is an unfortunate side-effect of my condition," the Gargoyle explained, melancholy self-pity leaking from his glowing eyes. Wolverine nodded slowly.

"Well," he commented gruffly. "That's a real shame, bub. I was really hopin' you'd feel it when I did this!"

Before the Gargoyle could react, the Wolverine was on his feet with a roar, his sharp adamantium claws embedded a full six inches into the creature's tough belly. But if Logan expected the Gargoyle to simply fall over after that, he was sorely disappointed.

The instant he withdrew his claws, the deep slits he had created in the creature's thick began to glow, the dull gray heating up to the color of liquid magma as the wounds quickly closed without even leaving a scar. Infuriated, Wolverine attacked again, slashing and punching with blinding speed, a feral glint of madness growing in his flinty eyes as the Gargoyle simply stood there and took it.

The paralyzing effects of the forcefield's energy were very slowly starting to wear off, but it still took an enormous amount of effort for Nightcrawler to turn his head towards the rest of his team. Benny had landed right next to him, staring up at the spiked ceiling, his young face pale with terror.

"Benny," Kurt hissed, smiling when the young man managed to turn his head enough to look at him. "Your telekinesis," he prompted, gesturing with his chin towards the fight going on just in front of them. "Try to help Logan."

"I—I can't," Benny whispered back, his three eyes wide with something very close to panic. "I can't move!"

"Benny," Kurt said, keeping his voice as calm and authoritative as he could. "You can do this if you concentrate. Use your mind."

Benny took a deep, shaky breath, struggling to collect his waning courage. 

"OK," he said. "OK, what do you want me to do?"

"Try to move that Gargoyle closer to me," Melinda spoke up from Benny's other side. 

Nightcrawler turned his eyes to her, a proud grin brightening his features. The raven-haired girl had managed to turn herself over onto her side with one arm stretched out before her. Her ruby eyes blazed with effort and fierce determination. 

"I need a clear shot," she said. "He may be able to stand up to Mr. Logan's adamantium, but I'll bet he can still burn."

"Good thinking," Sage praised, her voice tight and laced with pain. "This damned paralysis shouldn't last much longer. If we can hold the Gargoyle off, I calculate we should be able to make our way back to the jet within five to seven minutes."

"Sage, are you hurt?" Kurt asked, the strain in her voice causing a cold dread to race along his spine, making his tail give a painful twitch.

"A stalagmite," she panted, keeping her voice low and calm. "Got me in the side when I landed."

"Oh my God," Melinda gasped, her voice bright with concern and fear, "Oh my God, you're bleeding!"

Sage swallowed, gathering her strength, then turned her head to shoot the girl a reassuring smile. 

"I'll be all right," she asserted. "You sock that Gargoyle a good one for me, OK, Melinda?"

The lavender-skinned girl nodded, but her ruby eyes remained wide and apprehensive as she returned her focus to the one-sided fight going on before them.

"Benny, you ready?" Kurt asked.

"Got him," the boy said, all but his third eye closed as he used the power of his mind to lift the startled Gargoyle from the ground and drift him closer to Melinda.

"Logan, down!" Nightcrawler warned his friend as a roaring blast of flame burst from Melinda's lavender fingertips, encompassing the Gargoyle in a binding swirl of fire. 

Wolverine dropped flat, the searing heat passing within inches of his head.

Under the fierce onslaught of Melinda's fiery attack, the Gargoyle's thick skin gradually began to glow. His white eyes burned brighter than Melinda's hottest flames, and even though he couldn't feel the heat on his skin, it was clear she was having an effect. Benny's breath began to hitch as he struggled to keep the creature still. Kurt reached out to place a strengthening hand on the boy's shoulder, silently grinding his teeth against the sharp, tingling pain the movement caused him. The gesture seemed to calm the struggling teenager, though, and his breathing slowly became less ragged.

"It's working," Sage whispered, her drawn face brightening slightly. "Keep it up, Melinda, you've almost got him…"

The Gargoyle's leathery wings burst open and stretched to their full span, the flames fanning out to lick their bony tips. 

Benny screamed, clutching his head and curling into a shuddering ball of sheer agony. 

Melinda tried to force herself to her feet, keeping one arm outstretched as she fought valiantly against the pain lancing through her slender body to keep her flames from dying. 

The Gargoyle fixed her with his blazing eyes, flapping his wings once, twice, three times to send the fire that ringed his glowing form shooting right back to her.

Melinda shrieked and fell back, her raven hair ablaze.

Wolverine jumped to his feet, crouching to spring at the Gargoyle and knock him from the air, but this time the Gargoyle was too fast. Holding out one arm, a blast of white energy shot from his palm, freezing the Wolverine just before he could pounce. All color was leached from Logan's uniform and skin, the brightness was sucked from his adamantium claws. 

Nightcrawler blinked, his jaw dropping in sickened alarm as he realized what the Gargoyle had just done to his best friend. What had mere moments before been a living, breathing man was now nothing more than a statue of lifeless stone...

_"NOOO!" Kurt screamed, pounding at the invisible divider that kept him apart from his defenseless team. "Not again! Let me in there! I won't let this happen again!"_

_"Kurt, stay back!" Ororo warned sharply, trying to pull him away. "You can't let yourself get too close—"_

_Kurt spun on her, his golden eyes wild, half-mad, hot tears streaming down his russet face as the long-repressed memory continued to unfold._

_"I have to save them, Ororo," he told her, his voice cracking with emotion. "You don't understand - they're all going to die!"_

_His expression frantic, he turned back to the battle, where Melinda was now fully engulfed in her own flames, a crackling fireball with blazing, ruby eyes bravely gathering the last of her strength to launch a final blast at the Gargoyle. But, before she could lift her arms, a second stream of white energy burst from the Gargoyle's palm and Melinda fell to the ground, her flames dying around her as her lavender skin was transformed to blackened stone._

_"Oh, God, no," Kurt sobbed, slamming his horned forehead against the barrier. Ororo tried to reach out to him, to calm him with her presence, but he was too far gone, his eyes distant and his narrow features set with determination._

_"I have to stop this, Ororo," he said, taking several slow, measured steps backwards, never shifting his gaze from the Gargoyle's square face. "I couldn't save them before…I couldn't help them! They were my team, my friends - I was responsible for them and I let them down! I teleported away when I should have stayed there and shared their fate. Well, not again!"_

_"Kurt, no! Don't—"_

_But, before Ororo could stop him, Kurt was running for the invisible border. He disappeared an instant before he collided with it, jaunting through the barrier with a resounding BAMF!_

_With a cry of alarm, Ororo raced through the already dissipating teleport smoke to where he had just been standing. Pressing a helpless hand against the boundary, she watched in despair as, no longer shielded by the distance of time, her dearest friend was sucked into the prone body of his former self. His worst memory had now become his only reality..._

Through sheer strength of will, Kurt forced his stiffened, aching body to sit up, to bend its legs, to rise into a crouch. The pain was nearly unbearable, but he couldn't just lie there while his team was under attack. His power of teleportation was utterly useless as long as his movements remained restricted by the lingering effects of the forcefield. He had to move, to get the blood flowing again. He had to attack at once, or they would all be lost.

He had an opportunity. Perceiving that the immediate threat had been taken care of, the Gargoyle was taking a moment to fly around the cave, cooling down after Melinda's attack. 

Nightcrawler glanced over at what was left of his team, wracking his mind to think up some kind of plan that would allow him to get them all out. 

Sage was starting to shiver, her face pale and her breathing ragged, a growing puddle of blood slowly staining its way across the uneven surface of the cave floor. Even so, the brilliant mutant was hard at work, her slender fingers tapping rapidly at the keypad of one of the instruments she kept at her belt.

"Setting….to give out…charge," she explained between rasping breaths, somehow managing to flash Nightcrawler a determined grin. "Throw at….Gargoyle…and teleport…" Her grin faltered for a moment as her dark eyes turned to Benny, still curled in a protective ball. "At least…." she whispered, "you can….get him….out."

Kurt opened his mouth to protest, but Sage shook her head. 

"No heroism," she said, her eyes sharp. "No…bravado. You said…yourself…"

She closed her eyes, resting her head back against the floor. Kurt crawled stiffly over to her, one eye fixed on the circling Gargoyle as he knelt by her side.

"I know what I said," he told her, blinking back a sudden wave of unexpected tears. "But I can't abandon you here, Sage. I'll 'port you both out. Now, before he comes back. Just give me your hand."

Sage shook her head again. 

"I couldn't…..take the…strain," she admitted with great difficulty, slowly opening her pain-bright eyes. "Stalag…stalagmite….went all the way through…."

She took a deep breath, gathering all her remaining strength to press the device she'd been working on into Kurt's hand.

"Just throw it," she whispered, "and 'port. And Kurt…" she shuddered, her voice hitching as a tear leaked down her pallid cheek, "May God - may God be with you."

She fell back with a sigh, her breathing shallow and her eyes closed. 

Kurt watched her for a long moment, the stark knowledge that there was truly nothing he could do for her clawing at his heart. He looked over to where Logan still stood frozen, poised forever for an attack that would never come. Melinda lay at his feet, pale curls of smoke still rising from the charred stone remains of what had once been a brave, intelligent young woman. Benny was now rocking slowly, a thin string of drool stretching from the corner of his mouth. Kurt could only guess what the Gargoyle's dramatic escape from his telekinetic hold had done to the boy's mind. His entire team lay scattered around him, broken, dead, or dying. And at that sight, something within Kurt's mind snapped.

Baring his fangs, Kurt surged to his feet with a feral roar that would have rivaled Wolverine. The Gargoyle turned his square head, swooping toward him on his leathery wings, and Kurt threw Sage's device.

Time seemed to slow down. As Kurt released the device from his right hand, the Gargoyle simultaneously fired a bolt of white energy from his palm. Kurt saw it coming and tried to fall back, reaching out for Benny with his tail, when he felt the first stinging effects of the Gargoyle's blast graze the tips of his fingers. The color drained from the fur on the back of his hand with impossible speed, his fingers grew heavy and lost all feeling. The horror of what was happening to him hadn't even had time to penetrate when, in an action that was purely instinctual, Kurt suddenly found himself initiating a teleport. He reappeared mere moments later, dizzy and nauseous, landing hard on his back in what looked like a deserted alley. 

Only then did the reality of what he had done hit home.

"NO!" he cried, fighting his way out of a pile of rotting crates and festering garbage. "Benny!"

Picturing the cave in his mind, Kurt struggled to calm himself, to recall the unique 'feel' of the space he had just teleported from. It would be a long shot, especially since he had absolutely no idea where he was, but if he could picture the exact coordinates of the Gargoyle's cave, there was a chance he could jaunt himself back there before the monster attacked Benny and Sage. His unexpected teleport had come so quickly, he didn't even know if her shocking device had worked!

After several moments of intense concentration, Kurt believed he had it. Taking a deep breath, he activated his power—

And nothing happened.

This was confusing, but Kurt was too worked up to give it much thought. Instead, he tried again—

And again, nothing happened.

By this time, a good deal of his adrenaline rush had faded and his knees were starting to give out from under him. Even so, he wasn't ready to give up. Focusing on the end of the alley, he tried to teleport one last time…

And ended up collapsing in an exhausted heap instead. 

Swearing loudly in German, Kurt tried to pry himself off the stinking crates with his tail but, just as with the teleporting, absolutely nothing happened. Frustrated and angry and physically drained from the strain of his unwanted escape, Kurt grabbed on to a nearby brick windowsill with his left hand and yanked himself forcefully into a sitting position. The window had long since been shattered, but a thin pane of reflective glass still remained in the corner. Completely exhausted, his mind in too much turmoil to think straight, Kurt simply stared at the unfamiliar image he saw reflected there.

A striking face with deep blue eyes, high cheekbones, and a long, aristocratic nose was blinking back at him, framed by an unruly tousle of dark, chestnut curls. It took several long moments of blank staring before he recognized the pale, blood spattered features as his own.

"What the hell—!" he exclaimed. Jumping unsteadily to his feet, he swallowed hard against a rising swell of panic as he replayed in his head how the reflection's pink lips and flat, fangless teeth had moved in perfect time with his speech. Crouching back down before the glass, Kurt slowly, deliberately shook his head back and forth, opening and closing his mouth without making a sound. The human in the broken window mimicked his movements exactly. It was very creepy, like he was the dupe in an old vaudeville act.

"Nein," he told the reflection firmly, half fascinated, half appalled at the way the man's furless brow wrinkled over his astonishingly blue eyes. "This can not be real."

To prove his assertion, he reached up to pinch his cheek with his right hand, only to experience a sickening mental jolt when—just as with his tail and his attempts at teleporting—nothing happened. Looking down in confusion, the reason why at once became shockingly and gruesomely apparent.

Kurt's entire right arm was missing. It had been severed just below the shoulder, leaving only a horrific, gory stump. His pulse pounded in his ears, drowning out all thought as he slowly, tentatively lifted his other hand, holding it up before his eyes. 

With his glove on, it still looked normal enough, but Kurt could tell something was very wrong. Feeling oddly detached from events, he pulled the three-fingered glove off with his abnormally flat teeth and stared at his hand again.

This was impossible. Four fingers and a thumb, all slender and perfect; pale, smooth, furless skin…

Tilting his head in something darkly akin to curiosity, Kurt watched with wide, wild eyes as he stretched out his hand - his impossibly normal, five-fingered, pale pink left hand - and passed it through the space where his right arm should have been. As he did, a fat drop of blood landed on his palm. The blood was warm and slick and utterly, revoltingly real.

And with that understanding, Kurt Wagner began to scream.

To Be Continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: I made up Melinda and Benny for this story, but much of this chapter draws from Universe X and Giant Size X-Men #1: Second Genesis.


	17. Chapter 16

Ororo came to herself with a stomach-lurching mental jolt only to find she was back in Cerebro, sitting next to Xavier. An insistent blue light flashed on the control panel, but her brain felt too bleary to register its meaning.

"What...? What am I doing here?" she demanded, her disorientation lifting like morning fog as the appalling events of the past few minutes rushed to the forefront of her conscious mind. She spun on the old man, her eyes wide beneath her sleek, silver helmet.

"No, I can't be here!" she exclaimed frantically. "You have to help me go back! Kurt has teleported through your divider and now—"

"I know, Ororo," Xavier cut in, removing his helmet with pointed deliberation. "I was monitoring you both, if you remember. But, powerful as my gifts may be, I can still only deal with one crisis at a time. And, right now, we are receiving an emergency signal from the medbay." 

He flicked the silver comm switch beside the warning light, which Ororo now saw was a silent alarm originating from Hank's lab. 

"Xavier," Charles responded.

"Charles, we have a situation down here," Hank said, his voice low and wary, as though he feared someone else might hear. "Kurt's so-called father has appeared, along with one of his malevolent minions. They demanded to see Kurt - I couldn't stop them. Scott is keeping watch, but I have to say I do not trust their motives."

"Bright Goddess," Ororo breathed, bringing a hand to her chest.

"And Jean?" the Professor asked, his tone clipped with worry.

"She's unconscious, but stable," Hank assured them. "But, I'm afraid she's had to pull out of the fight. The psychic strain of holding off that Belasco demon nearly drained her."

Ororo swallowed, but even her worry for Jean was pushed aside when she realized, "But that means Kurt is alone with Belasco! Charles, you have to help me go back—"

"Don't think I don't share your concern, Ororo," Hank's low voice interrupted, "but in my opinion, it's Kurt's body we should be worried about now. Azazel claims that he wishes to restore Kurt to his natural form, but I'm not about to take these people at their word. There's a dark scheme at work here, and I refuse to let them carry it out. Not on my patient and not in my medbay! Thus, I require reinforcements."

Ororo anxiously worked her jaw.

"But, if we leave here, what is to stop Belasco from striking out at Kurt? He certainly can't defend himself in this state!"

"Actually, Ororo," Xavier said thoughtfully, "his current mental state may be his best defense. As long as his thought patterns continue to mirror his earlier memories, the Belasco 'program' should be unable to locate him and attempt another wipe of his personality."

"Yes, that makes sense." Hank's nod was almost audible. "So, he should be safe, at least for now."

"Try to keep the demons distracted, Hank," Xavier advised. "Ororo and I will be down momentarily."

He closed the channel and turned his electric wheelchair away from the control panel with an air of finality, as if that was the end of the matter. 

Ororo stood, her brow furrowed.

"You can't mean we're just going to abandon him to those terrible memories," she said accusingly. "Leave him to face those horrors alone - just as we left him alone the first time!"

"Did I say that?" Xavier snapped, his eyes hardening with a rare flash of temper. "Kurt is in no danger, Ororo - at least not mentally. Whatever horrors he is experiencing in his mind have already happened. At this moment, I'm afraid there's nothing more we can do for him here. Hank is right. It's his body we should be most concerned about now."

"Yes," Ororo muttered under her breath, her blue eyes cold. "You just keep telling yourself that."

If Xavier heard her, he gave no sign, keeping his eyes straight ahead as Ororo followed the old man into the elevator; aloof, regal, and completely expressionless.

But, behind her mask of calm, she felt as though a freezing vice was being tightened around her heart.

Ororo had promised Kurt she would help him, be there for him. He had trusted her enough to open his mind to her, yet now, when he needed her presence most, she was forced to walk away. 

It felt like betrayal. But, most bitter of all was the knowledge that, without Xavier's support, Ororo was helpless to do anything about it.

*******

Clouds blotted the late evening sky, the cold wind stinging his furless face as he lurched down the deserted street, clutching the bloody stump that had once been his arm. Kurt's head spun with nausea, his breathing ragged with pain and exhaustion, but he kept his legs moving, stumbling over his pale, stubby toes and struggling to keep his wandering mind set on the road ahead.

A shadow brushed past him on clacking shoes, a tattered briefcase in one hand... 

"Hilfe…!" he rasped, holding out his bloodied hand as though that could stop the man from walking away. "Bitte!"

But he was already gone, swallowed up in the encroaching night. 

Kurt sagged against the brick wall of a run-down shop, shivering with pain and a horrible coldness that seemed to leach all the strength from his body. He knew he had lost a lot of blood, that he was probably going into shock. His legs felt boneless, a cold sweat had broken out on his face.

But, he had to keep going. He had to keep walking - find a phone, a church…anything. If he allowed himself to pass out here, he would never wake up. Even a short rest, a brief stop, could be deadly. If he even…closed his eyes…

A jingle of bells, a flood of light—

"Hey you!"

A gruff voice snapped Kurt back to painful consciousness. Shivering hard, he fought to lift his head…

"Freakin' junkies…" the voice muttered. "Can't you read the sign? No loiterin' and no solicitin'. That means you, buddy. Do your beggin' someplace else! I run a respectable business here and I don't need you freakin' hopheads scaring off the customers, got it?"

Kurt's drifting mind needed time to process the loud English words spoken in such a harsh tone. He blinked blearily up at the broad shopkeeper and, as he did, he realized for the first time how terrifying the dark could be without the benefit of night-vision. Rather than providing relief, the light streaming from the shop's doorway only intensified the enveloping darkness, washing all the color from the crumbling street and turning the previously defined buildings and scraggly trees into monstrous shapes and looming shadows. The shopkeeper himself was a faceless form, his thick fists clenched and his dark eyes glinting beneath the shadow of his brow. 

Kurt felt a thrill of fear creep up his spine.

"You deaf or somethin'?" the looming man shouted. "I said get lost!"

Kurt tried to stand, but his wobbling legs gave out and he crumpled to the ground, his bare heels scraping against the rough sidewalk and the back of his head slamming into the brick wall on the way down. He swallowed the pain, the sudden jar causing his stomach to lurch and his throbbing head to whirl.

"Get up!" the shopkeeper snapped, kicking Kurt sharply in the thigh. "Get up! You can sleep it off someplace else!"

"Please…" Kurt tried, "…I'm not—"

The moment he opened his mouth, he knew he'd made a mistake. His head was spinning so badly…he barely managed three words before, suddenly, everything was coming up. Thick vomit splattered over the shopkeeper's shoes, the sidewalk, Kurt's blood-stained hand. A fit of violent coughing wracked his weakened frame, cutting off his horrified apologies before they had a chance to form.

If the shopkeeper had been irate before, he was infuriated now. His broad face reddened and his dark eyes began to glow a livid green as he opened his wide mouth in a truly horrible roar. 

Kurt cringed at the sound, curling himself up as small as possible against the graffiti-marred brick wall.

"What are you doin' out there, Rod?" a new voice called out, accompanied by a gigantic pair of old, weather-stained leather shoes. 

Kurt closed his eyes tightly, trying again and again to activate whatever it was that had allowed him the power to teleport.

"Phew! Lordy what a stench! Looks like he nailed you good, man."

"It ain't funny, Frank," Rod growled through clenched teeth. "I've a right mind to make an example out of this one."

"Yikes," Frank commented, crouching down to look Kurt over. "Looks to me like somebody already did. There's blood all over his clothes, cuts on his head… You sure this guy's a junkie?"

"Well, you tell me," Rod glowered. "He's filthy, dressed in stinkin' rags, he reeks of garbage, and I found him passed out in front of my shop. What else do you need?"

Frank shook his head. 

"I don't know. He looks like he's been beat up pretty bad, but I can't hardly see anythin' in this light." He stood with a grunt of effort. "Let's bring him inside."

"Heck no!" Rod exclaimed, outraged at the very thought. "I ain't bringin' no stinkin' junkie into my shop, 'specially if he's bleedin'! Lord knows what diseases these people might be carryin', shootin' up all day with those filthy needles of theirs! Bad enough he threw up on me! I'm not about to let him bleed on me too!"

"Well, we can't just leave him here," Frank protested. Stepping back into the shop, he called, "Liz! Hey, Liz! Bring me that flashlight, will you? You know, the one Rod keeps behind the counter. Yeah, that's the one."

Kurt opened his eyes again, struggling to focus as a girl with mottled gray skin, round fish-like eyes, and wetly flapping gills come rushing to the doorway, a flashlight in her scaly hand. She handed it to an enormous, middle-aged man with dark green skin and hair, all the while staring openly at Kurt. The giant smiled down at the girl, then crouched by Kurt's side, turning on the flashlight and pointing it straight at his face.

"Ach!" he exclaimed, flinching away from the sudden brightness.

"Sorry," the green man apologized. Kurt recognized his voice as Frank's. And, something else clicked in his swimming brain, something that made his heart begin to swell with hope. Somehow, he had landed in a community of mutants. If he could just gather his strength…focus his thoughts enough to explain… Surely they would understand. He could be back home at the mansion by morning!

"Please," he panted, swallowing hard to stave off another bout of vomiting. He spoke slowly, enunciating each word with careful precision. "Please sir, you have to help me. I am not a drug addict. My name is Kurt Wagner…Nightcrawler, from the X-Men."

Rod snorted from the shadows above. 

"You ain't neither. Nightcrawler's blue, ain't he? If you're him, then how come you ain't got no blue fur?"

"Wait!" Liz said, "I read in the newspaper that sometimes he wears a sort of hologram-maker thinggummy when he's out on missions. Ask him if he's wearin' a watch, Frank!"

"You mean my image inducer," Kurt gasped, his eyes widening as he realized he could make this work to his advantage. "It used to be a watch, but now it is a cylinder that straps to my belt." He gestured to the array of palm-sized instruments strapped to his utility belt, shifting his position against the brick wall. 

"Oh, God, oh GOD!" Liz shrieked, her webbed hands clamped over her wide mouth. "He ain't got no arm, Frank! Oh, God, he ain't got no arm! All that blood—"

"Get back, girl," Rod said gruffly. "He could still be dangerous. One thing's for sure, though. Whoever he is, he can't be no X-Man. They don't leave their own, 'specially when they're this bad off."

"They didn't leave me!" Kurt protested, his voice cracking with renewed pain as his muscles clenched. ...I was the one who left them... he berated himself, his heart heavy with guilt. But he didn't say that out loud. Instead, he hedged. "There was an accident. I…I teleported blindly. They don't know where I am. You…you have to call them. You have to let them know I'm here."

"He sounds sincere, Roddy," Frank said, rubbing his chin. "And he's definitely got one of them European accents. Ain't Nightcrawler supposed to be Dutch or Russian or somethin'?"

"Deutsche!" Kurt corrected firmly. "Ich bin - that is, I am German, mein Herr. I was brought up in Baden-Württemberg and in Bayern, near München - Munich." 

He sagged back against the coarse wall, exhausted and out of breath. 

"Now please," he pleaded weakly, his energy draining fast, his thoughts beginning to loose coherence. "Please...you must...the X-Men call." He shook his head. "I mean, call the X-Men. The number ist hier…"

He reached into one of the hidden pockets in his tattered uniform and pulled out a crumpled business card, the kind he usually handed out to the parents of his students in case they needed to contact him directly instead of going through the front office. He had used the back of this card to jot down the time for some meeting or other and had never gotten around to throwing it away - something he was deeply grateful for now. On the front was printed his name and the name of the school, the number of his office phone, his fax number, his e-mail address, and the address and phone number of the school. He pointed to that last section as he handed the small card to Frank.

"There," he said with a weak smile. "My credentials. The number you need is right there."

Frank read the card, then passed it up to Rod. 

"Seems legit to me," he said. 

Rod just grunted. 

"Don't you worry, Mr. Wagner," the green-skinned giant said, offering him a reassuring smile as he rose to his feet. "I'll go make the call right now. You just sit tight and your friends'll be here before you know it."

"Danke," Kurt whispered, shivering even more violently than before. The shop door slammed with a muffled jingle of bells as he slowly slumped to the sidewalk, too exhausted even to lift his head.

A new sound forced him to open his eyes: three young men and two scantily-clad girls - all of them obviously mutants - making their way down the opposite sidewalk. From their too-bright laughter and stumbling gaits it was clear they'd just come from a night of drinking. They passed under a streetlamp, the yellowed light bringing their features into focus.

Kurt blinked hard, his breath quickening as he pushed himself up against the rough bricks. One of the girls…she had lavender skin and black hair just like—

"Melinda!" he gasped, his hoarse cry oddly resonant in the nighttime air. 

The drunken party came to an awkward, giggly stop. Half delirious, Kurt staggered to his feet and began to shuffle across the street, hot tears streaming from his eyes. 

"Melinda, Gott sei Dank! You're alive!"

The lavender-skinned girl shrieked in alarm at the sight of the ragged, bloody specter lurching toward her. One of the boys leaped in front of her, pushing his glasses up his salmon-colored nose as he pointed his straight horns at the approaching stranger. But Kurt was too far gone to recognize the danger he was walking into, his words of relief tumbling over his guilt-stricken apologies as he reached out to her…

"Keep back!" the horned boy warned. "Don't you come any closer!"

But Kurt kept moving forward, oblivious and disoriented. A dark haired boy in a worn leather jacket dashed into a nearby alley, his legs blurring with incredible speed. He returned with an armful of empty beer bottles and broken bricks.

"Get away from us!" he shouted, lobbing a bottle at the nightmarish figure with all his might. It hit Kurt on the head and he crumpled to the ground, bewildered. 

The five drunken teenagers approached him cautiously, sticking close together behind the boy with the bricks.

"Listen to him talk," the horned boy said, frowning at Kurt's delirious babbling. "Did you ever hear an accent like that before?"

"He ain't from around here, that's for sure," the armed boy replied.

"Whoever he is, he's hurt real bad," the lavender-skinned girl said, swallowing back her revulsion. "Look at all that blood! You don't get that much blood from a regular street fight. This guy looks like he's been in a war!"

"Hey! You think he could be, like, a terrorist or somethin'?" the third boy- - a reptilian-looking teen with wings like a pterodactyl - spoke up from the back of the huddle. "Maybe he's, like, on the run from the FBI! Maybe there's a reward if we bring him in!"

"This loser ain't no terrorist," the boy with the bricks scorned. "Just look at him. I bet he ain't even a mutant. Just some stinkin' human that got caught on the wrong side of town. Probably deserves every wound he's got." 

Striding forward, he kicked Kurt sharply in the thigh.

"Hey you!" he shouted. "Flat-scan! What'd you do - run into a propeller or somethin'?"

Kurt stared up at the small gang from the street, his blue eyes glassy and his breathing harsh and ragged as he fought to focus his thoughts into coherent speech. 

"Didn't mean to," he gasped brokenly, "…to teleport… Would have turned me to stone… Gargoyle…had to stop… Mutants…help…" 

He faded out, falling back onto the pavement, his fingers numb and trembling.

"Had to stop mutants?" the second girl repeated with a frown, brushing her pink hair from her eyes. It was long in the front and very short-cropped in the back. "Did you hear that? This guy's been beatin' up on mutants!"

The door to the shop opened with a jingle of bells and Frank, Rod, and Liz came filing out.

"Mr. Wagner, we called the school but only got the machine," Frank started, but he cut himself off when he caught sight of the scene in the street.

"Hey, what's goin' on here!" he demanded, running over to the teenagers. "Don't you know who this man is?"

"Yeah. He's one of them Friends of Humanity nuts," the dark haired boy declared. "We just heard him sayin' how he wanted us to help stop the mutants!"

"What're you talkin' about, boy," Frank sneered. "This here's Nightcrawler from the X-Men! He even had a card!"

The horned boy snorted. 

"Card, my ass," he scorned. "No way this filthy flat-scan is Nightcrawler! He ain't got no tail or nothin'!"

"That's because he's wearin' a hologram, moron," Liz retorted, crouching down to snatch the instruments from Kurt's belt. "When I find the right one, the hologram will blink out and then you'll see…" 

She stood up and backed away, bewildered when nothing happened.

The dark-haired boy smirked.

"See what?" he taunted.

Liz frowned, increasingly angry as she scowled at the instruments in her hand, then down at the unchanged human at her feet.

"Hey!" she snapped. "I think he lied to us, Frank! He ain't Nightcrawler after all!"

"I knew it!" Rod proclaimed. "He probably stole that card off the real Nightcrawler. I'd even go so far as to bet it was the X-Men that did all this to him! Makes sense if he's one of the FoH! Heck, he might even be their leader for all we know!"

"Then I say we finish what they started," Frank said coldly, his green face drawn with fury at how easily he'd been fooled. "These freakin' FoH bigots have been keepin' us down long enough. It's about time we got some of our own back!"

A sizable crowd of mutants had gathered by this time, pouring out from the apartments above the run-down shops to see what the commotion in the street was all about. As Frank shouted, they took up the cry, advancing on Kurt with anything they could find.

Kurt watched them come, blankly uncomprehending until Frank lobbed a brick straight at his head. Only his years of Danger Room training saved his life as he rolled away just in time and climbed to his unsteady feet, his head whirling and his heart pounding. Only then did the full reality of his situation sank in.

Seeing Kurt on his feet seemed to enrage the crowd, their threatening shouts growing in intensity. Kurt felt a sickening sense of deja vu, his mind flashing back to that horrible night in Winzeldorf...the night Professor Xavier had rescued him from a mob of 'demon' hunters. Then, he'd been scapegoated because he was a mutant. Now he was a normal human, he was seeing that same murderous hatred burning in the eyes of the mutants all around him. Only this time, Professor Xavier wasn't there to save him from their fury.

A rush of terror surged desperate strength into his shaky limbs, and he ran for his life, the raging mob pounding close at his heels. Glass shattered all around him, the shards cutting his bare feet. Bricks left painful welts on his back and legs, yet still he ran. He ran mindlessly, his thoughts as incoherent as those of a hunted deer until he found himself pressed up against a brick wall.

Acting on instinct, he tried to climb it, unable to comprehend why his palm and feet refused to stick to the rough surface. He tried again and again, scraping the skin from his hand and knees and toes, yet nothing happened. 

He turned, faced the on-coming mob, his blue eyes wide and wild as he crouched down. Rocks and bricks and bottles pelted down on him, battering him until he fell helplessly to the sidewalk, no longer able to move.

This was it. This was the end. Painful as it was, Kurt could almost laugh at the irony. 

His mother had been right. Everything he'd worked for, the cause he'd fought so hard to defend... It was nothing more than an idealist's fantasy. Mutant or human, all cultures and communities were the same - fearing any person, thing, or idea they judged too different from the accepted norm. Xavier's Dream was a failure after all, and Kurt's death would be the proof.

"Let that be my last thought," he whispered ruefully through cracked, swollen lips. He closed his eyes and gave himself over to—

"Stop that! Get away from him, all of you! Have you all gone mad!"

A new voice rose above the mob's shouts, drawing him back from the darkness enveloping his mind. Slowly, Kurt opened his leaden eyelids, watching in blank befuddlement as the blurry shadows dispersed, leaving only two shiny black shoes standing before him.

Kurt tilted his head back, wincing as even that small movement stabbed his broken body with shooting pain. A flood of light met his tearing eyes, filling his heart with a strange wonder. From out of this light, a kindly face came into focus, the softly wrinkled face of a priest…

"Can this pitiful figure I see before me truly be Kurt Wagner?" the old man asked, his dark eyes filled with sadness. "Where are your friends? Surely the X-Men would not abandon one of their own to a fate such as this."

Kurt closed his eyes, a searing guilt slicing through him as he thought of Benny and Sage, of how they must have faced their deaths alone and without hope of rescue. He had abandoned them. Why should he deserve any better?

Taking in a shaky breath, he managed a hoarse whisper: "Who…who are you?"

"Here, I am known as Mr. Church," the old man said, his gleaming eyes appearing almost gold in the dim light of the alley. "But you, my brother..." He smiled, his white teeth lengthening into alarming fangs, his pale hair and skin deepening to dark, ominous red, "...may call me Mephisto."

*******

Erik was approaching the medbay from the other end of the corridor when the doors to the elevator opened for Charles and Ororo. Casting them a rather arch look, he projected his questioning thoughts to his old friend.

*Supper for the rest of the staff and the students has been taken care of, although I did have to be rather creative finding ways to stave off their questions about what's going on down here. On that subject, just how are we to approach this latest 'emergency'? I doubt it would be prudent to simply walk right in without any strategy at all…* 

He raised a somewhat challenging eyebrow.

Xavier's thin lips twitched into a small smile. Speaking out loud, he said, "On the contrary, my friend, that is exactly what I was planning to do. You see, Azazel already knows we're out here."

Ororo shot the two men an annoyed look, aware some kind of silent exchange had just taken place. But, Xavier had already maneuvered his electric wheelchair through the sliding door to the main medical bay, leaving her and Erik to swallow their frustration and trail him inside.

The medbay seemed surprisingly calm. At the far corner, Scott sat beside Jean's bed, gently stroking her vibrant red hair as she slept. The monitors that flanked her showed normal rhythms and steady pulses, all indications she would recover fully after her harrowing psychic experiences. 

"Ah, Professor Xavier, I presume!" Azazel smiled, striding forward with his hand outstretched. "So good to meet you at last."

Xavier raised an eyebrow. 

"Indeed," he said, giving the demon's proffered hand the most perfunctory of shakes before gesturing to the others. "These are my colleagues, Erik Lehnsherr and—"

"No, don't tell me," Azazel interrupted, his golden eyes fixed on Ororo's face as he took her hand and raised it to his lips. Ororo felt a deep chill run through her at his unwelcome touch. She knew she had seen those cold eyes before…

"This can only be the lovely Ororo Munroe," the demon went on, smirking at her reaction, "the woman who has held my son's affections for so long, yet has only now begun to show any signs of true reciprocation. Tell me, my dear, do you treat all your admirers so wantonly, or only those whose looks don't quite match the so-called ideal?"

Ororo's blue eyes flashed a brilliant white, her long hair rising around her shoulders as she tore her hand from his grasp. 

Mephisto took a threatening step toward her, leaving Hank alone by Kurt's bedside, but Azazel waved him back with a low laugh.

"So," he said, his eyes roving over her figure in a way that only increased her anger, "the Storm Goddess's armor is not as thick as she would like us to believe." 

He leaned in so close, the bristles of his black beard brushed against her ear. She shuddered in revulsion.

"If you keep wearing your heart on your sleeve, my dear, it is likely to tarnish."

She glared at him, moving back several paces. Azazel let her go, but kept his eyes fixed on her face, clearly goading her. 

"I offered that advice to my son upon our first meeting, but he proved unable to heed it. You can see the consequences." 

He cast a pointed glance at the unconscious Kurt.

"Azazel," Xavier said firmly, before Ororo's swelling outrage could erupt into violent fury, "why have you come here?"

The demon let his gaze linger on Ororo just a bit longer before he turned a rather disappointed expression on Xavier. 

"Really, Professor, with powers as vaunted as yours you shouldn't have to ask such obvious questions. I have come because my son is in need of my help. It's that simple."

"Is that so," Erik retorted, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Then why is it only now that you've decided to show up? Why didn't you offer Wagner your help a year ago, or a week ago? Why did you wait until he came _here_ before doing something?"

Azazel shook his head. 

"Another slew of obvious questions! Clearly, I didn't come earlier because it is only now that any help I could offer would be of use to him. To tell you the truth, before Miss Munroe's impromptu rooftop visitation, I wasn't even sure if he could be helped. I don't know what you said to draw him out, my dear, but ever since then that tangled, schizoid swamp he calls a mind has been slowly crawling its way back to sanity, making it possible for me to finally offer him some meaningful assistance."

Ororo's whitening eyes were as hard as diamonds. 

"And why should we trust you?" she snarled, her snowy hair crackling with barely contained electricity as she advanced on the bearded demon. "You're the one who did this to him in the first place! If it wasn't for you—"

"If it wasn't for me, he'd be dead!" Azazel snapped, his eyes flashing a dangerous gold. "Murdered by the ungrateful populace you X-Men had him convinced he had a duty to protect! I gave him a second chance at life, taught him how misguided he had been—"

"And when he resisted, you wiped his personality and implanted Belasco's instead!" Ororo cried. "Replace a troublesome son with a loyal one, is that it? You probably thought Kurt was gone for good! But, he proved too strong, didn't he, Azazel. And, now that he's begun to recover his identity, you've come to finish what you started!" 

She snarled, her posture radiating menace. 

"You've come to help your son all right," she said, "but not Kurt. You've come for Belasco!"

Three slow claps echoed dully in the metallic room, overlapped by Mephisto's derisive snickering.

"Lovely speech," Azazel remarked. "And delivered with such fiery passion! I must say, I'm impressed. You're quite wrong, of course, but I can understand how you could come to that erroneous conclusion."

Mephisto snorted from across the room. 

"Belasco is nothing," he said without taking his eyes from the trilling instrument in his hand. "He was a failure - an untalented, self-centered fool who longed for a prestige he never deserved. Kurt was the one with the potential. He just needed a little…prodding…before he would allow himself to put his skills to use."

"Prodding!" Ororo exclaimed. "You brainwashed him! You stole his identity, altered his body, distorted his brain paths!"

"We had hoped that wouldn't be necessary..." Mephisto said. "Kurt Wagner could have been second only to my father in power if he had just opened his eyes and embraced our cause. But, he proved too stubborn, and the psychic treatments my sister performed on him didn't hold. He soon became unstable…irrational. My father placed him in Limbo before he could deteriorate too far, but ultimately he left us no choice but to perform a complete wipe of his personality and memories." 

He shook his head, raising his golden eyes from his instrument to cast a disgusted glance at Kurt. 

"Such a waste..."

Erik furrowed his brow. 

"If that's so, it seems to me that you have no more use for him - at least not as he is now," he said. "Why, then, have you chosen to help him?"

Azazel smiled behind his trim goatee. 

"My dear Magneto, you of all people should understand. Despite my rather...sinister...reputation, I am not a monster. Kurt Wagner is still my son, for all his misguided shortcomings. And, you can trust I wouldn't be here now if I didn't believe he had earned the chance of a full recovery."

"Earned how?" Ororo demanded.

"By continuing to exist!" Azazel said grandly. "Wiping my Kurt's personality was the hardest decision I have ever had to make, and I can tell you Belasco made a poor replacement. I mourned my son, Miss Munroe. I mourned him bitterly. For all his obstinate defiance, he had always proved worthy of my respect. You cannot imagine my wonder when I learned he had survived the procedure!"

"A recovery like this should be impossible," Mephisto said, speaking clinically over his instrument. "Such spontaneous personality regeneration has no precedent, especially after a new personality has been implanted. We have been tracking his progress for over fifty of your years, ever since we sent him to my father's Earth as Belasco, and his resilience has proven truly remarkable."

Azazel beamed proudly. 

"And, that is why I have decided to grant him the opportunity to return to his former life and his own form. Such an indomitable will should be rewarded. I want his remaining years on my Earth to be rich and happy, spent among the people he loves so dearly." He fixed his gaze on Ororo. "Surely you can't fault a father for wanting that for his child."

Scott rose from his seat across the room, his brow furrowed over his glasses. 

"So let me see if I understand you," he said, taking a few strides forward. "In order to reward Kurt for miraculously surviving your attempt to blot him out of existence, you're making this magnanimous offer to untangle the mess you've made of his genes and his mind so he can live happily ever after here with us. And then…what? What do you get out of this?"

For the briefest moment, Azazel stiffened, a dangerous gleam in his eye. Then, just as abruptly, his shoulders loosened and he began to laugh. It was a chilling sound.

"There is a very old proverb, Mister Summers," he said darkly, his long tail writhing like a snake behind him, "that I think you might appreciate. It goes: Never look a gift horse in the mouth. This is a family affair, little man. My motives are my own."

"Fair enough," Xavier spoke up from his chair. "Far be it for us to argue with you. If anything, I would like to thank you for what you are doing for Kurt. I realize he is your son by blood, but ever since he joined us at the age of nineteen, we have all regarded him as an important member of our family. You can't blame us for being protective now that he's returned to us."

Azazel cocked an eyebrow at the elderly Professor; their sharp eyes boring into each other in a silent power play. After a long moment, Azazel blinked. Xavier nodded.

"You will have our full cooperation for as long as is needed to rid Kurt of Belasco," he said firmly, glancing at each of his friends in turn to stave off any protests. "These facilities are at your disposal. How can we assist you?"

Azazel's thin lips stretched into a superior smirk. 

"Mainly by keeping out of our way," he said, glaring pointedly at Scott and Erik. "McCoy can stay, however. His knowledge is limited in this area, but his skills might prove useful nonetheless. As for you," he peered down at the Professor, "I'll need you and Miss Munroe to continue your work in Cerebro. Yes, I know all about it, Charles, don't look so startled. In fact, I was counting on it."

"Then, I was correct to attempt containment," Xavier said, forcing himself to speak civilly, even if it was through clenched teeth. 

"You will have to get Kurt to attack with everything he has," Azazel said. "He must force Belasco to give ground if we're to stand a chance of extracting the implant without causing further damage to Kurt's mind." 

He held up a clawed finger to forestall Xavier's next question.

"As you can guess, the extraction process will be extremely delicate," he said. "So delicate, I would only entrust it to the most powerful telepath who has ever lived."

Xavier could feel a flush rising on his face but, before he could respond to the seeming compliment, Azazel went on, his deep voice laced with smug contempt. 

"I will summon her directly once everything is ready. You just concern yourself with making sure my Kurt is strong enough to fight Belasco. You may go."

With a dismissive flick of his spaded tail, Azazel strode back to Kurt's bedside, where Mephisto and Hank were too preoccupied with their scans to notice Xavier's bristling ire.

To Be Continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: The preceding mob scene and Mephisto's appearance were taken from events in Universe X, Volume 2.


	18. Chapter 17, Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I know I've been terribly slow with the updates lately - sorry! - but here's the first part of this story's second-to-last chapter. I'll put the rest of the chapter up tomorrow, but today was one of those crazy 'one thing after another' days, and I just wanted to get something posted. :) Stay tuned, and thanks so much for your patience with me! :)

Chapter Seventeen, Part I

Belasco leaned back in his dark throne, a burning rage swelling in his heart. The body he inhabited may have been in a comatose state, but Belasco had heard everything, every word of the conversation between his father and the X-Men.

And, what he'd heard had left him fuming.

All this time…all the sacrifices he had made… His home, his humanity, his friends…

His love…

Belasco had forfeited everything for his father's promise that he would impart to him the knowledge of the supernatural. For centuries, he had served Azazel faithfully and without complaint, confident that, one day, his father would raise him up to the exalted position he had always deserved.

But, after what he had just heard…

He knew now that Azazel had been using him, just as he had used him to get to Beatrice. Azazel cared nothing for his ambitions, he had no appreciation of his talents. To him, Belasco was a convenient means to an end. 

An end that involved Kurt Wagner, not Brunetto Donati.

Belasco growled, the sound reverberating low in his throat. 

To think he had been so completely taken in by Azazel's smooth words, his easy promises! That he had truly believed his father had revived him as a show of appreciation for his faithfulness, that he had been given a new body and a new position as Lord of Limbo as a reward: a sign of his father's trust! 

And why not? If not for him, Beatrice's twins Mephisto and Ginniyeh would never have been born and Azazel would have been without his two greatest and most powerful advisors. 

But, no. Belasco understood now. His ‘exalted’ position had been nothing more than an empty title. Limbo was a prison, not a prize! A boggy backwater of a reality plane with no real importance to Azazel's realm. He'd been placed there so his father could keep an eye on him while keeping him out of his more important affairs – like a child in a playpen! For the past fifty-odd years, his entire existence had been nothing more than a farce; his father's sick way of keeping Wagner – the only one of his children he had never been able to dominate – under his control. 

Belasco himself meant nothing to his father. He was just a "poor replacement" for the child he couldn't have. 

And, that stung.

All this time, it had been Wagner Azazel had wanted by his side. Wagner, the Gypsy brat provincial who had no understanding or appreciation of the power he could so easily have held, the power Brunetto had coveted all his life. 

The power he would never wield…

Belasco ground his sharp teeth together, his glowing eyes narrowing into fierce slits. 

His father had used him and he had betrayed him. He had sacrificed Beatrice to that cold-hearted monster for nothing! 

But, if Azazel thought he was just going to give up this body - _his_ body - to Wagner, he was dead wrong. Belasco had _earned_ this body. He _deserved_ it, and he was going to keep it! Not for Azazel, but for himself. Azazel could go hang, along with whatever deep, dark plan he had up his sleeve. 

Belasco wasn't about to sacrifice his life for his father again.

To Be Continued...


	19. Chapter 17, Part II

Chapter Seventeen, Part II

Kurt squinted in horror at the demonic face grinning down at him. Mephisto stood beneath the halo of the corner streetlamp, looming over his prone half-brother with his hands on the hips of his black suit and a superior sneer twisting his blood-red lips.

"Not quite what you were expecting, am I?" he said, his movements eerily reptilian as he crouched down and tilted his head so he could look Kurt straight in the eye. "You were probably hoping to see a redeeming angel all in white, or maybe the famous tunnel beckoning you to heaven? But tell me, my brother," he said, "and speak the truth now. Do you really believe you deserve such salvation after all you've done?"

Kurt's broken body shivered in agony. His every breath was a painful struggle. Still, he managed a hoarse retort.

"I…I am not...your brother," he wheezed, clenching his teeth against the pain. "Leave me alone."

Mephisto's lips stretched into a half-smile. 

"Alone?" he repeated. "Yes, you are alone, aren't you. There are no X-Men friends to save you this time. I'm the only person on this world who knows where you are, and why you're here. I know what you've done, Kurt."

Kurt grimaced, his breathing growing sharper and even more ragged. 

"Go…go away…"

"It's eating you up inside," Mephisto persisted, his smooth voice so gentle, so understanding. "You keep seeing their faces in your mind—"

"Stop it."

"And it's a torture worse than your own pain. The agony of your broken body is almost a relief, isn't it? Each twinge and ache and sting soothes your guilt. You _deserve_ this fate. The beating you received from that mob, the loss of your arm and your powers… It's all God's justice, isn't it."

"…no…"

"The price you pay for killing your team."

Hot tears stung Kurt's eyes, leaking down the scratches and bruises on his cheek and pooling in his ear. Every hitching breath brought a fresh wave of agony to his broken ribs, but the physical pain hardly rated next to the weeping wound in his soul.

"You killed them, brother. Or, rather, you let that Gargoyle creature kill them. And now, your worst fear has come true, hasn't it. Here you are, lying helpless in a rancid alleyway completely alone. The ideals you fought and sacrificed for, the ideals you killed to defend…they are meaningless now, empty words without substance. You've been abandoned by everything and every one you've ever loved. Now, even by God."

It was as if the demon was reading aloud from words printed on his heart. There was no denial in his tears. Only shame. Shame…and fear.

"I understand, my brother," the demon hissed, snakelike in his ear. "I've seen it so many times. But you're right. I should get going."

The warmth of Mephisto's body vanished from his side as the demon rose to his feet. Kurt opened his eyes, squinting again at the bright light that surrounded his imposing form as he turned and started to walk away.

"Good bye, Kurt Wagner."

Every clack of the demon's polished shoes sent terror pumping into Kurt's heart. Coldness surrounded him, darkness was closing in so fast…

"Stop!"

The word tore from his throat like a frantic moth, desperate for escape. And once it burst out, the rest of Kurt's painful confession soon followed.

"Bitte, I…" He sobbed, an aching, horrible sound. "I don't want to be alone."

The demon paused for a long, tense moment. Kurt held in his short, gasping breaths until, slowly, Mephisto turned back to him, returning to crouch by his side once more. His gentle smile twisted into a smirk as he regarded his broken half-brother through knowing, yellow eyes.

"No," he said. "I didn't think you really wanted me to leave you. At this point, with your life ebbing away with such frightening swiftness, even my company must be better than none at all."

Kurt couldn't answer, too ashamed of his weakness to even look the demon in the face.

"What—" he gasped, his words dissolving into a breathless wince. "What do you want?"

"Believe it or not, I came to help you, Kurt," the demon said, his tone and expression completely sincere. "I wanted to let you know that you don't have to die today. Not like this; a helpless victim of a heartless mob."

He leaned in closer, his golden eyes fixed on Kurt's blood-shot blue ones. 

"You know in your heart why this happened. The real reason you're lying here in this filthy alley, soaked in your own blood. Your guilty conscience is fighting to deny it, but the truth is the deaths of your teammates was an accident, a tragedy no one could have prevented. What happened to you tonight, however, was unforgivable."

Kurt narrowed his eyes in confused denial. "I don't—" He took in a shaky breath and tried again. "I don't understand…"

Mephisto shook his head, his exasperated expression only making Kurt feel worse.

"Your friends died in the line of duty, fighting to protect humanity from itself," the demon explained grandly. "Despite its futility, theirs was a noble cause. You, on the other hand, are the victim of a hate crime. There is no honor in that. It is your death that would be the true tragedy tonight, because it would prove your friends died for nothing."

"What?"

The sound was small, but it had the right tone. Mephisto's eyes gleamed, the smell of victory already titillating his nostrils. He was on the right track. Just a little more time, and Wagner would be his…

"Listen to me, Kurt," he said in his most compassionate tone. "Mutant or flat-scan, humanity is all the same. They're fearful beings, mistrustful of anything beyond their limited range of experience. It takes only the tiniest provocation for that fear to turn to hate, for the defensive to turn violent."

He sat back on his heels with a sigh, his expression somber. 

"It's a shame that only now your eyes have begun to clear, my brother. All your life you've lived in a cloud, fighting in defense of a dream without substance. Your struggle has been as noble and as tragic as that of Don Quixote himself. But then, you always have been a romantic."

He smiled, but his golden eyes remained deep with pity.

"I realize it's hard for you to hear this," he said, "but I can tell from your expression that you know what I've said is true. You've been tilting at windmills, Kurt, battling symptoms rather than attacking the core disease."

Mephisto placed a surprisingly gentle hand on his brother's shoulder, his expression soft with false sympathy as he watched the streaming tears pour from Kurt's reddened eyes.  
"Listen," he said, his voice intense and sincere. "Don't try to speak. Just listen. You see me and my kind - _our_ kind - as 'evil' because that's what the humans have taught you to believe. From your birth, to your earliest days with your circus family, all the way through your years with the X-Men, people you've cared about have abandoned you, recoiled from you, been afraid to let you get too close. Not because of anything you've done, but because of what you are, of what you can't help being.

"You, like me, are a son of Azazel. Your appearance, if not your actions, marks you as one of us, and that is what your comrades fear. They fear us because we remind them of their shortcomings. The human species are sinners all, and the one thing they hate above all others is to be caught in the act. So, it is our difficult and thankless duty to instill the fear of God into them, as it were, to play on their own guilt to keep them in line. As a result, we are despised by humanity for the same reasons prosecuting attorneys are despised by criminals.

"The devil exists, Kurt, to punish the guilty. To teach them a lesson, just like the lessons learned in Xavier's school. Understand, my brother…you and me, our father Azazel, all our kind…we were made in God's image too."(1)

Kurt closed his eyes, gasping and wheezing, oddly aware that his labored breathing was starting to take on a disturbing whistling sound. But in his mind, drifting and spinning as it was, Mephisto's words were beginning to click. Something about them sounded so familiar, like he'd heard them all before, long, long ago. In Sunday School, when he was a child. Wasn't there a story where Satan was portrayed as an advocate working for God, prosecuting humans for their poor choices… In Milton, or the Old Testament perhaps…? 

He couldn't remember. He was too exhausted to remember. All he knew was that Mephisto's words made sense.

He opened his eyes again to see Mephisto's smile beaming down at him. Almost reflexively, he returned it. The warmth that small action sparked in the demon's golden eyes touched his failing heart.

"That's right," Mephisto said, his voice fading then coming back as Kurt began to flicker in and out of consciousness. "I knew you'd come around in the end. You don't want to die here, do you?"

"Nein," Kurt whispered, feeling warm and floaty and protected, detached somehow from the pain of his dying body. 

Mephisto's smile broadened into a reassuring grin.

"I can help you," he said. "But you have to come with me of your own volition. Take my hand, my brother. Our father is waiting to welcome you home."

"Home..." Kurt breathed, awkwardly reaching into the streetlamp's enveloping light as he searched for Mephisto's outstretched hand…

"Bright Goddess… Get away from him!"

Mephisto spun in place, snarling dangerously as a new figure stepped onto the scene. 

Kurt blinked in bleary wonder, the bright light from the streetlamp stretching into long rays as his watering eyes struggled to focus. 

The newcomer was a tall, stately woman with dark skin and gleaming white hair. Her eyes glowed with a fierceness that caused even Mephisto to take a step back. 

Kurt's heart filled with a marvelous awe as she rose slowly into the air, her slender figure radiant with power.

"Ein Engel!" he breathed, bringing his one hand to rest over his pounding heart. "Ein Engel für mich!"

"Kurt, get us out of here!" the angel called to him, ominous lightening flashes brightening the dark clouds gathering above as she raised her arms to the sky. 

Mephisto growled, fixing her with a glare that could have cut through steel.

"Wagner is mine, witch," he snapped. "You cannot interfere with what has already come to pass."

"Shut up," Ororo retorted, a rumbling boom of thunder lending menace to her words as a lightening bolt whizzed just over his shoulder. "I've had my fill of you, and your slimy master. Kurt!" she called again. "Come on, pull yourself together! You're not dying, Kurt, this is only a memory. You have to concentrate now. Concentrate on getting us away from this place!"

Kurt didn't understand. A memory? What was she talking about?

"Ca-can't move," he rasped, shuddering deeply. "Ca-can't 'port."

"You don't have to, Kurt! Just think! Think yourself someplace safe…like that church! Remember the church? Come on! We don't have much time!"

Kurt closed his heavy eyelids, his spinning brain musing on the angel's instructions. Were they some sort of riddle? Was she trying to test him? He was suddenly frightened...frightened and unsure. She sounded so urgent…but what church did she mean? 

Weak as he was, there was only one church he could picture with any clarity…

The alley and all the surrounding buildings wavered like a heat mirage in the desert. Kurt closed his eyes tightly to fight down a wave of nausea. Somewhere far away, he could hear Mephisto roaring with fury, but a much closer voice caught his attention as the landscape began to settle once more.

"Thank the Goddess! Kurt? Kurt, are you all right?"

Kurt opened his eyes slowly, surprised to find he was lying on the uneven stone floor of the ancient monastery chapel at Neuherzel with Ororo kneeling by his side, clutching his hand.

"Ororo?" he asked blearily, sitting up and staring at their linked hands: pale, pinkish tan against creamy mocha.

"Oh my God, Ororo!" he gasped, his memories returning in a sudden flash. "I almost…ach, Gott, I can't believe what I almost did! If you hadn't come just then…"

He blinked. 

"Wait..." he said slowly. "This isn't right. This isn't what happened. This isn't right!"

"Kurt, calm down," Ororo said gently. "It was only a memory. It wasn't real."

Kurt shook his head, his blue eyes wide and frantic. 

"Yes! Yes it was! I-I took Mephisto's hand and there was all this light! And voices…so many voices. And when I woke up…" 

He slid his hand away from Ororo's and raised russet claws to the level of his suddenly golden eyes. 

"I looked like this!" he spat, his voice harsh. "It was something in that dart they hit me with back in the Gargoyle's cave. It activated some dormant genes I'd inherited from my mother, allowing Azazel to reshape my genetic code however he wanted. He said it was necessary, that there was no other way to repair all the damage that mob had done to my body…"

He shuddered deeply, his spaded tail lashing the floor as he lowered his head and hunched his shoulders to his ears. 

"That dart was also why I'd lost my powers after teleporting away from the Gargoyle. Azazel had planned the whole thing just to capture me - the fake warheads, the Gargoyle's attack, the mob - and I walked right into his arms..."

He shook his head, his short, red hair shading his glowing eyes from Ororo's view. 

"I should have died in that cave with my team. I should have let that mob of mutants kill me! How can I have been so selfish, so weak in the face of death? Mephisto was right. I don't deserve redemption. Some actions should not be forgiven."

Ororo frowned, grabbing Kurt's chin and forcing him to look into her eyes. 

"Don't you dare talk like that!" She glared, her blue eyes flashing a dangerous white. "You chose life, Kurt! That choice does not make you weak. If anything, it is a sign of strength - of faith even! Look at you! You've endured so much, been hurt so badly, yet you're still here."

"But as what!" Kurt demanded, his fangs gleaming in a fierce snarl as he surged to his booted feet, his cape swirling behind him. "I became a demon of my own free will, Ororo. I may have been at the point of death when I took Mephisto's hand, but I am still responsible for the choice I made. And the truth is that I gave in! I let Mephisto's arguments sway me."

Ororo shook her head in frustrated exasperation. 

"Kurt, you can't keep blaming yourself for—"

"Yes I can!" Kurt cried. "I was terrified, Ororo…terrified of death. If I'd truly had faith, as you say, I would have spat in that demon's eye and given myself up to God's judgment. Instead, I hesitated. I doubted. I failed!"

He took in a deep, trembling breath, no longer able to look Ororo in the eye as he admitted, "I deserve everything Azazel did to me, and more. I'm not the man you think I am, Ororo. I never was. _This_ …" He held up his hand, his golden eyes dull as he flexed his clawed, russet fingers, "…this is me."

Ororo set her jaw, her nostrils flaring as she strode forward, grabbing Kurt's hand and yanking him to her so sharply he nearly lost his balance.

"Fine," she snapped, glaring straight into his eyes. "If believing you're a demon makes you happy, if carrying around all that guilt gives you so much satisfaction, then fine. I'm not going to argue with you."

Kurt glared. 

"Ororo…" he growled. 

But Ororo was only getting started.

"Actually," she said, "now I come to think about it, that must be why you stopped Belasco from strangling me on the roof the night I first came to see you, and why you rescued Jean, and pulled Charles out of that psychotic mess you call the 'midden mire' before he lost his mind! It had nothing to do with the fact that you _care_ about us! All those years with the X-Men, you were just putting up a front - pretending to be a decent, compassionate man when in reality—"

"That's enough!" Kurt roared, struggling to tear his arm from her grasp. But, Ororo only held on tighter.

"Tell me this, Kurt," she said, her eyes boring into his. "If you're a demon, why is it that you always take refuge in a church when things get bad? I thought the damned couldn't stand on hallowed ground. And what about this?" she demanded, pulling him forward and shoving his hand down into the basin of holy water.

"This sacred water represents the truth," Ororo told him, relying on Charles to sort out the subconscious metaphors she was seeing. Kurt recoiled in shock as the clear water turned a deep red the moment he touched it. His shock only deepened when he pulled his hand out again. The skin the sacred water had touched was no longer red, but pale, and the paleness trickled down his arm in wriggly streaks as the crimson water dripped to the floor like droplets of blood.

"You see, my friend," Ororo continued, somewhat more gently than before, "you are no more a demon than I am a goddess. The truth is, we are both of us only human."

Kurt shook his head, his shoulders trembling involuntarily beneath his long cloak. 

"I didn't want it to be true," he said hoarsely, backing away from the concern in Ororo's eyes. "I _don't_ want it to be true! It would be so much easier to live with the past if I truly was a monster." 

He looked up, his fiery eyes dark with anguish.

"Why did you make me re-live those horrors? Why couldn't you have left them buried! What is the good of reawakening such…such pain!" 

His strained voice hitched as he fought back his stinging tears, his knees as fluid as water as he collapsed onto a pew. 

"Sage, Melinda, Benny…Logan! _I_ was responsible! But, there was nothing I could do. Nothing. I could only watch as they fell around me. All of them. I lost all of them!"

Ororo couldn't endure any more. As swiftly and gently as a cooling breeze, she took a place beside him, wrapping his tense, trembling form in a tender embrace. Soothing softly, she ran her fingers through his curls like a mother calming the screams of her cherished child. 

And, for once, Kurt didn't pull away.

He was tired. So tired of holding everything in, of carrying on with the act. She knew everything, she had seen the full extent of his darkness and guilt, yet she hadn't turned from him. She had witnessed his actions in the cave, and instead of accusing him of the murders he felt so keenly, she had approached him with understanding and compassion. She had watched him at his weakest moment, when he had reached out his hand to accept Mephisto's fateful bargain, and instead of turning on him with the disgust and horror he felt in his own heart, she had beaten the demon back and come to his rescue. And as he realized that, the understanding dawned within him that with this embrace lay the redemption he had dreamed of, the wish that had spurred the hope that had kept him alive all the years he'd spent lost and alone in the purgatory of his own mind. Now, surrounded by Ororo's acceptance - by her love - Kurt finally allowed himself to accept the reality of what she was offering him. The proof of her love overwhelmed him, toppling his bitter defenses and kindling a warmth he hadn't felt in decades.

With a choking sob, Kurt released whatever scraps of pride had been holding him together and leaned into her, as desperate to receive her comfort as she was to give it. His hot tears fell unabashedly as she smoothed his hair behind his pointed ears and rubbed his back in calming circles. Safe in her arms, he poured out all his bitterness and anger, all the defensive hatred he had used to keep his pain at bay, and allowed her love to rebuild him from the inside out. 

The open, weeping wounds at last began to heal. The need to suppress and hide and hurt finally melted away. And, when he raised his head to look into her eyes, the man Ororo saw beside her was, at last, whole. Scarred, certainly. But whole.

Ororo's eyes widened in wonder at the change she saw in her friend. There was a new strength in his posture, a new ease in his manner. But his eyes…his eyes held the real change. For, rather than shifting and blazing with anger and shame, their golden light met her gaze with open candor. And the emotion she saw reflected there was love. 

Her breath caught in her throat and she suddenly found herself blushing. The gentle smile on his indigo face was the most beautiful sight she had ever seen.

"Thank you," he said, reaching up with a thick, fuzzy finger to affectionately brush a few unruly strands of hair behind her ear. "Thank you so much, Ororo."

Ororo nearly broke out laughing in giddy delight at the way his familiar accent caused him to pronounce her name. Instead, she caught his eyes with a gleaming smile, taking his three-fingered hand in hers and pulling him close in a fierce hug.

"Oh, Kurt!" Her joyful tears dampened the fur of his neck as she breathed him in, squeezing him tightly as he wrapped his tail gently around her waist. 

For a long time they sat like that, reveling in the closeness of their shared embrace, yet all too aware that the moment could not last. Their fight wasn't over yet. Belasco was still out there, spreading his malignance like a tumor.

Ororo sighed and loosened her hold enough so she could meet his eyes without fully breaking their embrace. It was time Kurt knew the full truth of what his father had done.

To Be Continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Reference from Universe X Vol. 2
> 
> Gettin' sleepy... Guess I'll have to break this chapter up into three parts. So, next time, the battle between Kurt and Belasco truly begins! There will be swordfights, flying ships, zombies, pirates...but I don't want to give too much away. ;) Stay Tuned! :)


	20. Chapter 17, Part III

Chapter Seventeen, Part III 

"But why?" Kurt lashed his tail, pacing up and down the uneven stones of the ancient chapel's narrow aisle. "Why would he wish to help me? And why now?"

Ororo shook her head. 

"All he would say is that you've earned a full recovery," she said. "And I agree – on that point. Even so, I know he's up to something. Azazel is a patient man. His every action is layered with deceit and double-meaning. I can't help feeling this whole situation is only a part of something much larger, something none of us can see."

"Oh, it is," Kurt agreed. "I have no doubt of that. His plots can span centuries. But that doesn't mean he's infallible. We've managed to foil him before."

"But, we knew what he was after then," Ororo pointed out. "You! Even Mephisto said you could have been second only to Azazel in power if you'd given in and taken up their cause. Yet, now he seems almost eager to let you go." 

She frowned. 

"To my mind, it can only mean he's found someone else to take your place."

Kurt sighed through his nose, sinking down into the pew across from her. 

"Well, whatever he's plotting," he said, "my first priority is clear. I won't be of use to anybody if I can't reclaim full control of my faculties. You've helped me recover my mind, meine Liebe, and for that I shall eternally be in your debt. But Belasco is still in possession of my body." 

"That's why you have to confront him," Ororo said firmly. "Now, before he has a chance to realize what's happened. He can't use your guilt against you anymore, Kurt. He can hurt you, taunt you, but he will never again be able to overwhelm you. You're stronger than he is. This is your mind, not his. He's just a program – without substance!"

Kurt tightened his lips. 

"Computer virus or whatever he is, he's real here, with real powers." He looked up at her, not even trying to hide his apprehension. "If he shunts me off to the midden mire again, I will lose everything you have helped me to gain. All my memories will be wiped. I'll be cast adrift again, a ghost haunting my own mind. Ororo, I don't think I could bear it!"

Ororo closed her eyes, her heart aching in sympathy and fear. She'd thought she'd understood the risks he would face if he confronted Belasco again, but now she realized this conflict was far more complicated than a simple battle between good and evil. If Kurt was to stand a chance of winning this fight – this duel for his sanity and his future – he could not approach Belasco as though he were a physical foe. The threat the demon posed was completely internal, and the battleground would be Kurt's entire subconscious.

As she considered this, Ororo was hit with a flash of insight that wasn't her own. Xavier was telling her something… 

She tilted her head, struggling to hear…

"Ororo?" Kurt asked, clasping her suddenly tense hand between his palms. "Liebling, are you all right?"

But, Ororo was no longer in the church at Neuherzel. She was sitting on a chair in Cerebro, her eyes fixed on the Professor's wrinkled face.

"This is reality," he told her, his eyes sharp, and let her go again, sending her rushing back to Kurt's side. 

Ororo blinked in dizzy disorientation, accepting the supportive hand Kurt reached out to her. She shot him a weak smile, giving his thick fingers a reassuring squeeze. 

It was so strange... The last time she'd seen him in the medbay, his fingers had been so swollen it had hurt her just to look at them. The slightest touch had caused him pain, despite the medication Hank had administered to keep him asleep—

Ororo gasped, and her eyes opened wide. 

“That’s it!” 

“What is it, Liebling?”

“Kurt,” Ororo said, “I know how you can push Belasco back without fearing the dangers of the midden mire. You’re asleep!"

"Was?" Kurt wrinkled his forehead. "Ororo, what—"

"No, listen, Kurt," she said, leaning in closer. "You’re unconscious in the medbay! And, although it may feel like we are really sitting here, talking in this ancient church, the truth is both of us are only projections – representations of our thoughts and feelings like…like in a dream! That’s how you must approach him, Kurt. As a dream: a dream you can control! That’s the only way to challenge this monster your father implanted in your mind.”

“But…” Kurt blinked and swallowed. “But…how?”

Ororo smiled, her bright eyes intense and confident as she smoothed an affectionate hand down his velvety face.

"I have a plan."

To Be Continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slowness, and for chopping up the chapter like this, but from the moment I got home we've gone straight from preparing for a family wedding to preparing for birthday celebrations (including my birthday! :) ) and I'm the one who makes the cakes! :) LOL! I'd like to get the last part of Chapter 17 up tomorrow (that's where the swordfight starts! :) ) and I have chapters for a few other stories that are so very close to being _almost_ ready, I just need to find a long uninterrupted stretch of time in a nice cool room to finish them up. Summer is too darn hot! LOL!
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, and please stay tuned for the last part of the next-to-last chapter of this story! :)


	21. Chapter 17, Part IV

The distinctive sound of teleportation was nearly inaudible over the roar of the green and orange flames that lapped the throne room’s walls, licked its cavernous ceiling. If Belasco hadn't been listening for it, the soft _BAMF_ might have escaped his notice all together.

As it was, Belasco's sharp eyes latched onto the two intruders the instant they materialized at the mouth of the shadowy cave. He watched their cautious approach through slitted lids, unable to restrain a smug smile. Like the wily spider poised in its web, his patience had paid off. 

His prey had come to him.

Slipping off his obsidian throne, the demon fell into a crouch at the edge of the looming stone pillar. His lone hand brushed the pommel of the sharp rapier strapped to his waist, his yellow gaze never leaving the two X-Men as they made their way through the cave. 

He only needed them to come a little closer… 

A little closer…

A sputtering flame flared up, flooding the cave with a brief burst of greenish light – clearly revealing his half-brother’s face, and the face of his companion.

Belasco frowned, and leaned forward. He had half expected the red-head to return, seeking retaliation for the thorough thrashing he had given her before. But this dark-skinned witch…he knew her. Hers was the face that haunted his brother's most secret heart, the face that had kept him from submitting to oblivion. 

Belasco knew the power she held over the Wagner brat, and it troubled him now. For the first time, he felt his assurance beginning to slip. Her presence here was dangerous, and from his brother's physical appearance and confident bearing, it was clear she’d already had an effect. How profound an effect, the demon could only guess.

"Fool," he hissed to himself, angered by his rising doubt. "Have you forgotten who is the master here? How many alternate versions of this weather witch have you destroyed? How many times have you choked the life from her body? The circus freak was helpless to stop you then. This time will be no different."

At the recollection of his former triumphs, his smirk began to return. Of course, that was the answer. Love was a weakness, a handicap he could exploit. Dispatch the weather witch, and it would be a snap to force Wagner back into his rightful place at Belasco’s feet. To break his heart would be to break his will, leaving him isolated, helpless, forced to watch as Belasco—

But wait…

The blue freak was looking straight at him, his graceful stance radiating challenge. 

Belasco straightened, rising to his full, imposing height, his hand on his sword and his long cape swirling around his blood-red boots. 

Kurt flashed him a quick smile from far below, then turned to his companion. Ororo nodded once, looking straight into his eyes. She brushed his cheek with her hand and leaned in close, gracing his lips with a kiss that, despite its swiftness, was deep with unspoken emotion. 

Belasco set his jaw, a swell of fury surging through his heart as he prepared to leap from—

But, the weather witch was gone. No sound, no smoke, no disturbance of any kind. She just…wasn't there anymore. 

Belasco stretched out with his mind, wary of a trap, but there was no trick here, no hidden plan. Ororo really had vanished. She had left Kurt to face his demon alone.

Well, so much the better. Now, Belasco had the circus brat all to himself. It was time to show Wagner, once and for all, who was the true master here. 

Drawing his sword from its sheath, Belasco fixed his eyes on his foe and jumped.

*******

Kurt had only moments to react before Belasco came crashing down on top of him, his heavy cape billowing out like the leathery wings of a bat. Quicker than thought, Kurt dove out of his way, falling into a nimble roll that brought him smoothly back to his feet. 

The demon landed hard, but kept his balance, lunging at Kurt with his long rapier drawn and swinging straight for the unarmed mutant’s head.

His attack was met with an unexpected flash of steel as a similar sword suddenly appeared in his enemy's hand. 

Startled, Belasco backed off a few steps, keeping his blade in front as he began to move around Kurt in a slow, taunting circle.

"So," he sneered, "I see your witch has taught you a few tricks. But remember where you are, my fuzzy little friend. This is _my_ realm. Here, my power reigns supreme."

Kurt regarded him, no longer seeing an echo himself, of his anger and pain, reflected in the demon’s cold expression, and he marveled at the change. He had blamed himself for Belasco’s cruelty for so long, allowing guilt, fear, and doubt to keep him from standing tall, from fighting back.

Yet, now…

Now, things were different. _He_ was different. Ororo had shown him the truth, helped him see the distinction between himself and the demon before him – to understand and _believe_ that Belasco was _not_ the mirror of his failings, and his failures. It had taken him so long, so many torturous years to remember who he really was, to recover the scattered, buried fragments of his memories and personality… 

But, Kurt was no longer the fractured, self-punishing ghost Belasco had dominated for so long. He was whole, and eager for the fight to assert, and preserve, his rightful identity. 

"Oh, I know where I am, Belasco," Kurt assured him, his sharp eyes tracking the demon's every movement. "And, I know what you are. This is _my_ mind, brother. And I mean to have it back."

Belasco bared his teeth, his tail beating against his cloak as he made a forceful slash to Kurt's shoulder. Kurt deftly parried the blow, causing the demon to overstep. Taking advantage of his foe’s off-balance moment, Kurt aimed a sharp kick at his lower back. The demon toppled, losing his grip on his sword as he tried to stop himself from falling flat on his face on the ash-strewn ground. The thin blade clattered and rolled and Belasco surged after it, his golden eyes blazing with rage.

But, the sight of Kurt's own rapier gleaming barely an inch from his face made him pause.

"Go on," Kurt allowed, gesturing with the blade's tip to Belasco's sword. "Pick it up."

The demon glared, a threatening rumble starting low in his throat. 

Kurt waited, his blade at the ready. 

But, Belasco just closed his glowing eyes, his thin lips set in concentration. Kurt started to move forward— 

Until, the ground gave a violent shake. The cave floor opened under his feet, and Kurt found himself falling helplessly…tumbling down, down into utter darkness. 

Belasco's laughter followed him, the harsh sound echoing around and through him. It was as though the demon was right beside him, but when he reached out all he touched was the smooth edge of a narrow chasm.

Kurt tried to swallow his rising terror, to convince himself this was just in his mind, but his confidence was fading fast. The horrible rush of falling, the blackness that surrounded him, the acrid dust that choked the air – it was all too real, to real to be a dream. And, Kurt had no control…no way to stop himself, no place to teleport…

As suddenly as it had started, the freefall came to a jolting end. Kurt stood up slowly, cautiously, holding his arms out in front of him in the pitch darkness. 

The rocks he felt were strangely warm, the air dry and heavy with the stench of sulfur. As he staggered blindly forward, the temperature rose to a roasting heat, until Kurt felt like he’d been trapped inside a pizza oven. Smoke and dust filled his nose and scratched the back of his throat, sending him into a fit of involuntary coughing.

"Lovely, isn't it?"

Belasco's smug voice came from everywhere and nowhere. Kurt strained to see, his eyes stinging and watering in the suffocating blackness.

"Where are we?" he croaked.

"What, do you mean you can't see it?" Belasco’s laughter took on a derisive edge. "So, brother, for all your talk you still don't understand. Perhaps, a little illumination is in order?"

A sharp finger-snap sounded right next to Kurt's ear and echoed in the smoky darkness. Almost instantly, the ground around him began to glow with a dim red heat. As Kurt watched, the glow increased and spread until the whole alarming landscape faded into view.

Kurt stood on a small island of charred, black rock, surrounded on all sides by a rushing river of flaming magma. The moment he saw the molten rock, the stone beneath his bare feet grew scorching hot, forcing him to cry out in pain. Belasco's taunting laughter filled the smoky chasm as Kurt hopped from foot to foot in a desperate undignified dance.

"It isn't real..." he growled through clenched teeth. "It's all in your head..."

He fought to control his breathing, to concentrate despite the pain searing his soles. The demon was playing with him, he knew that, trying to discourage him with a show of power. But Kurt wasn't about to be intimidated. Not this time.

Ash and smoke stung his eyes, flowing magma spat and sputtered all around him, but he forced himself to ignore it, to ignore the heat and the pain and focus on finding Belasco. He turned in place, awkwardly rocking from toe to toe as he cast his gaze up and around the smooth, black walls of the smoky pit. His burning feet screamed their protest, but finally, he spotted him through a cloud of volcanic dust. 

The red-skinned demon crouched on a long, corroded metal outcropping high above the magma river - possibly a support structure for a mining tunnel that had long since collapsed. The rotted beams jutted out from the wall about half-way across the smoky chasm. 

Kurt could tell the structure was unstable, but it had to be better than his rapidly melting island. Gathering his strength, Kurt vanished with a resounding BAMF, reappearing just behind Belasco. The corroded metal bent and swayed under his grasping toes, and Kurt had to bend his knees quickly to maintain his balance.

"Nice location," he observed wryly, resting his hand on the hilt of his blade. "Although, if this scaffolding snaps under our weight we're barbecued. You do know that, right?"

Belasco straightened and turned, his sword drawn and his lip curled in disgust. 

"Your fear is your weakness, fool," he spat, purposely causing the rusted beams to rattle and sway until Kurt had to stick out his tail and wheel his arms to keep from falling. Belasco snorted scornfully. 

"If you understood the power I wield, there would be no reason to fear this drop," he said. "Face the truth, brother. I am the stronger here. You cannot win."

Regaining his balance, Kurt drew his sword and casually spun it back and forth like a band leader's baton. 

"Perhaps you forget, 'brother'," he retorted. "I was raised on the trapeze. When it comes to heights and narrow beams, I'm not the one at a disadvantage."

"We'll see," Belasco said, and made his attack. 

Kurt jumped to the side, catching hold of a narrow beam with one hand and flipping out of range just in time to deflect the demon's next lunge. Ducking down, Kurt aimed an upward slash at Belasco's chest. 

Struggling to keep his balance, the demon leaned forward with an awkward parry - a fierce swipe that became a startled scramble when the scaffolding gave a horrible creak and dipped down several feet. 

Kurt grabbed the beams with his hands and feet, but Belasco slipped backwards, the shifting of his weight causing the weakened metal to bend even further. The scaffolding sloped like a slide, forcing the one-armed demon to drop his sword as he scrabbled for a handhold. 

Alarmed, Kurt inched slowly toward him, grasping one of the narrower beams with his tail and holding his sword behind him as he reached out to his brother with his other hand.

"Grab hold!" he called, loosening his tail slightly in order to stretch his arm as far as possible. And, to his relief, Belasco did. The demon's talons dug into Kurt's fuzzy arm, drawing blood as he halted his deadly slide. 

Kurt gasped, but the pain was secondary to his struggle to pull the slightly larger man to safety. His balance became increasingly precarious as he inched upwards but, despite the obvious hatred burning in Belasco's eyes, he didn't once consider letting go. 

As Kurt's progress became more labored, the demon's hard, calculating grimace cracked into an eager smile. He watched Kurt grip the rusted bars with his feet, waiting until his tail reached up, groping for a better hold - then gave a swift, powerful tug on Kurt's arm, raking the flesh with his claws as he used his greater weight to rip the indigo mutant from the scaffolding he'd been climbing. 

Now, Belasco held Kurt above the flaming brink, his boots wedged securely between the wildly swaying bars. The flash of panic in the mutant's golden eyes sent a rush of triumph surging through the demon's heart.

"So," he hissed through pointed teeth, "do you still believe this is your mind? That an ungrateful circus brat like you could wrest power from me! This body is mine, Kurt Wagner. I've earned it. I've sacrificed for it. And I mean to keep it!"

With a fierce, psychopathic laugh, Belasco let go of his half-brother's arm, sending Kurt hurtling head over heels toward the flaming magma bubbling far below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To Be Concluded! Next Time: The two combatants go from the depths of the Earth to a land of sky and clouds! It's gonna to get weird, so stay tuned! Thank you so much for your patience with me and with this story! :)


	22. Chapter 18, Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! Part One of the Final Chapter of Belasco's Beatrice! Just three more parts and an epilogue left to go! :)

"Come on, Kurt, pull out of it!" Ororo cried, clutching the edges of Cerebro's control panel as she watched him tumble through the dark smoke toward the boiling lava spurting and bubbling at the bottom of the cavern. "Think yourself somewhere else!"

"You do realize he can't hear you," Xavier said dryly, although the drawn look on his wrinkled face showed he was just as worried as Ororo. "It's important he works this out on his own. He'll get it. We just have to be patient."

"Patient!" Ororo exclaimed, incredulous. "Where's that helmet? We have to do something before—"

"There, look!" Xavier said, his excitement growing as the scene on the monitor began to change. As it did, the screen displaying Kurt's brain patterns broke out in a burst of green, overshadowing the straight orange lines that depicted Belasco. "He's doing it! He's taking control!"

Ororo kept her eyes fixed on her friend's image as, on the monitor, the thick smoke slowly whitened and the atmosphere cleared until, instead of falling through a cavern, Kurt was tumbling through the clouds. The sky around him was a bright, summery blue, and flying toward him in the near distance was something that looked strangely like a sailing ship—

BAMF!

Ororo and Xavier both jumped at the soft explosion of sulfur-scented smoke behind them. Their startled expressions fell to annoyance when they saw who'd accompanied it.

"What are you two idiots playing at?" Azazel demanded furiously, his russet face darkening in his anger as he advanced toward them over Cerebro's suspended ramp. "I sent you up here to help my son, not to kill him!"

"What are you talking about?" Ororo retorted, her own anger mingling with a rush of sharp concern.

"How much stress do you think my son's system can take?" the demon snarled, bearing his fangs. "No sooner does my serum complete the regeneration process and return his metabolism to normal, than his heart rate and brain activity shoot off the scale! It was all your Dr. McCoy could do to keep him from going into cardiac arrest! Now I ask you again, what are you playing at?"

"Bright Goddess..." Ororo gasped, feeling the blood drain from her face. "I knew I shouldn't have left him. He isn't strong enough for this! He hasn't had time to come to terms with the memories—"

"Don't start doubting him now, Ororo," Xavier said firmly. "Look at this."

He nodded his head toward the flickering monitor screens on the control panel, indicating the squiggling mess of colored lines beside Kurt's image. 

Ororo leaned closer, her eyes widening as she realized what the readings meant. 

Azazel frowned and leaned over her shoulder, his muscular arms crossed over his armored chest.

"What is being displayed there?" he demanded of Xavier. 

Charles glanced up at him with a bland look.

"It is a scan of Kurt's brain patterns," he explained, keeping his cultured voice as flat and even as possible. "These ordered orange lines indicate the Belasco 'virus'. The more organic, green lines represent Kurt himself."

"It's working..." Ororo said in amazement, a growing smile brightening her wide, sapphire eyes. "The green lines are weaving around the orange, like a basket! And there are so many more of them than there were before."

"Yes, he's starting to pull himself together," Xavier said. "But, even though he is growing stronger, the Belasco program is adapting itself to the changing environment." 

He looked over to Azazel, who was staring at the screen with a thoughtful expression on his face.

"If you're still planning on bringing in that telepath of yours," he said, his expression twisting ever so slightly. "I would do it soon. Even with our help, this is going to be a close fight, and I want to be sure we don't miss our opportunity to trap Belasco."

"Never fear, old man," the ancient mutant sneered. "My daughter is already here. We are ready to do our part. All we need is the correct sign from Kurt himself."

"And what sign is that?" Ororo demanded, scowling up at him from her stool. 

Azazel looked straight past her.

"Continue your monitoring," he ordered, turning on his heel, his long cloak swishing around his ankles. "Be sure to contact me if anything should go wrong. I shall be in the medical bay with my son."

A flaring puff of sulfurous smoke, and Azazel was gone, leaving Xavier and Ororo to watch the battle playing out in Kurt's subconscious mind.

To Be Continued...


	23. Chapter 18, Part II

A fierce battle waged on the deck of the sleek Imperial Cruiser (1). The ship sailed through the sky like a cloud-dwelling whale, its masthead flags and pennants fluttering high above the roars of the combatants, and the clatter of glinting steel. 

Kurt squirmed and twisted as he fell through the air, reaching for the thick, colorful fabric, but he'd gained so much momentum, the flags only managed to slow his fall, not stop it. He tried to shout a warning, but it came out more like a frightened yelp as he crash-landed right in the thick of the fight, flattening several blue-skinned pirates...whose fall flattened several others...and theirs several others...

" _Aaaooowwwww_ ," he moaned. Rubbing his throbbing head, he struggled to sit up and survey the damage.

Unconscious blue bodies lay scattered all around him, all of them scantily clad in gold and bronze with red bandanas tied over their black hair. 

Cautiously, he rolled off the pile of softly groaning fighters and climbed to his feet. Only when he looked back did he realize the pirate he'd landed on was a woman.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, an embarrassed flush rising up his face to burn his ears. "I'm dreadfully sorry—"

"Sir?" a plaintive, female voice called out from behind him.

Startled, Kurt spun around to face her, his jaw dropping at the sight.

A tall, stunning blonde stood before him, draped in flowing cloth of white and gold. An elaborate golden headdress framed her pale, aristocratic features, bedecked with sparkling jewels. But it was her eyes that caught and held his gaze, her wide blue eyes so full of terror and pleading that, despite his own confusion and fear, Kurt's heart went out to her.

"Please sir," the woman sobbed, "I beg you - SAVE ME!"

Her words dissolved into a terrified shriek as she pointed over his shoulder with a trembling hand. 

Kurt turned his head - only to see a fresh horde of angry blue pirates charging their way, cutlasses drawn and gleaming in the sunlight.

"Oh dear…" he said, pushing the woman back among some storage crates, where she could hide

"Kymri's down!" one of the larger pirates growled, his fury evident in his golden eyes.

"Have at 'im, mates!" an even burlier pirate shouted, the tip of his curved blade pointed straight at Kurt's heart. "Let's do for the swine what dropped our cap'n!"

"It was an accident!" Kurt protested, ducking under the pirate's slashing blade and falling into a roll, yanking a pair of swords from the gloved hands of two unconscious pirates and plucking a third from a nearby scabbard with his tail before rising back to his feet. "I assure you I had no intention—!"

But the pirates were on him now, and he had no spare breath for speaking. He stumbled back to avoid another powerful slash then, while the muscular pirate was bent over, he leaped up onto his shoulders and somersaulted over the heads of his attackers to land on the deck railing.

The pirates roared their frustration, and Kurt felt a confident, roguish grin spread over his features, certain now that he could meet their challenge.

"All right, then!" he shouted over the noise. "Have it your way!"

Thrusting his three blades out, he made a daring backwards flip and kicked out with his legs, knocking pirates left, right, and sideways as he dove straight into the heart of the fight. The blue-skinned pirates clearly aimed to gut him, but Kurt nimbly dodged their attacks, trading on his agility to turn their own momentum and size against them. 

Kurt had no idea who these pirates were, or what they were actually fighting for, and he wasn't willing to fight to kill. So, rather than slashing back with equal fury, Kurt focused on his acute spatial awareness to sense where their blows would come an instant before they arrived, careful to use his blades only to parry their powerful attacks while relying on his feet, arms, elbows, and whip-like tail to whack the pirates unconscious. 

The strategy worked. Before long, he was the only man left standing.

Grinning and exhilarated from the fight, Kurt rested the sword in his tail across his shoulder and leaned rakishly against the one in his left hand to survey the damage.

"Now," he said, smiling to himself, "that's what I call a workout!"

"YOU CUR!"

Kurt blinked in surprise, startled by the sight of a very angry, very beautiful blue-skinned woman - the same woman he had accidentally landed on. Apart from his mother, Mystique, it was exceedingly rare for Kurt to encounter a woman with skin and eye coloring so similar to his own, and he couldn't help but reflect that her proud, determined features were far lovelier when she was conscious. 

Like the male pirates, she wore a red bandana tied around her forehead, but her long, curly black hair was adorned with an elaborate golden clip, and she was dressed very scantily in red and gold body armor. Her balanced stance and fierce expression marked her as a warrior, a leader, her golden eyes seething with barely contained fury as she brandished her two swords, beckoning Kurt to take her on.

"You've not won the day, paladin," she growled through clenched, white teeth, every word dripping with deadly threat. "Not 'till you've bested me!"

Kurt raised an eyebrow, noting with some concern that, despite her well-practiced stance, she had not yet recovered from his inopportune crash landing. She held her right arm a bit too close to her side, and her eyes kept unfocusing. Kurt could only imagine the incredible willpower that kept her on her feet. Respect filled him at the young leader's show of bravery; he was desperate to talk with her, to find out what she was fighting for. 

But, such a conversation would be impossible as long as she was armed…

So, he smiled and bowed slightly to the poised warrior, saying, "If you insist."

With a deft flick of his wrists, he encompassed her blades and disarmed her in less than a moment, raising the cutlass in his tail to rest just under her chin. 

Although she was now at his mercy, the fierce, blue-skinned woman did not cower, nor did her firm gaze waver. 

Kurt felt his respect for her rise several more notches.

"I want you to know I am very sorry about all the trouble my unexpected arrival has caused," he told her, hoping his sincerity was reaching her. It was impossible to tell from her stoic expression. "If I might introduce myself? Kurt Wagner by name, also known as Nightcrawler. I'm a stranger here, who'd much rather be romancing a lovely lady than dueling her."

The woman spat on the deck at his feet. 

"I'd sooner snuggle with a sand shark," she snapped, glaring straight into his eyes. 

Her defiant self-assurance struck a chord in his heart, sparking a strange feeling of déjà vu. He had been in this situation before, long ago…

The realization hit him with the force of a lightening bolt, and Kurt rolled his eyes, disgusted with himself for not realizing sooner. This was a memory! The memory of an adventure he'd had years ago, back when he had led the British superhero team Excalibur. His mind must have sent him there to save him from falling into that horrible lava pit of Belasco's—

Kurt gasped. Of course - Belasco was still out there…how could he have forgotten…?

The female pirate began to laugh, noting the change in his expression. Kurt stared in alarm as her narrow features began to shift, her voice deepening until, within moments, the noble Kymri had been replaced with a smirking Belasco. 

The demon quickly snatched the cutlass from his horrified opponent's tail and stepped in close, pressing the sharp blade against Kurt's fuzzy neck.

"You really are a sap, aren't you," he snarled, fiercely backing his half-brother against the ship's railing. "I'm going to slice you up into pieces so small even Azazel won't be able to sew you back together again!"

Kurt grimaced, bending his back over the railing as far as he could. He darted his eyes around the ship, desperate for an escape route, only to see the sleek Imperial Cruiser deteriorate into a nightmarish ghost ship all around him, the polished metal corroding in spreading patches of peeling rust. The unconscious pirates sat up and lurched to their feet, their deep blue features twisting like horrific masks as they advanced on him, their golden eyes glowing red. Others swarmed up the masts, streaming up from the lower decks like a hoard of mindless zombies. With the chill of Belasco's blade against his neck, there was nowhere to teleport, nowhere to run—

Unless…

Kurt twisted his neck to peer through the clouds below the flying ship. He could see no sign of land, only an endless expanse of bright, blue sky. 

Under normal circumstances, leaping out into that expanse could mean certain death. But, Kurt knew these weren't normal circumstances. This was _his_ memory, _his_ subconscious mind they were flying through. If Belasco could alter the environment according to his will, then Kurt should be able to do so even better. 

He just had to concentrate.

Shooting Belasco a defiant grin, Kurt vanished in a puff of smoke, reappearing several feet off the ghost ship's starboard bow. To his delight, instead of tumbling helplessly through the air, Kurt landed with both feet planted firmly on a cloud, the surface of which felt as firm and smooth as a ballroom floor.

"Ha!" he crowed, pulling a thin, sharp rapier and a long dagger out of thin air. 

Belasco glared at him from the corroded ship, slamming his fist down on the railing in fury. 

Kurt laughed.

"What was that you were saying about cutting me to pieces?" he taunted, flicking the rapier back and forth like a whip.

Belasco snarled.

"You haven't beaten me yet, little freak!" he roared, leaping from the ship with his heavy cutlass aimed straight at Kurt's belly. 

Kurt snagged his blade, pushing it away with a graceful half-turn, then coming back with a cut to Belasco's shoulder. 

The demon clenched his teeth in livid fury, parrying the cut so forcefully sparks flew from their clashing blades. 

Using his dagger in concert with his long rapier, Kurt entrapped his half-brother's notched cutlass, forcing it down to the solid cloud at their feet, then shoving Belasco away with his shoulder. 

The demon stumbled and nearly fell from the cloud, his lone arm wheeling as he struggled to recover his balance. 

But, Kurt wasn't about to give him that chance. Focusing all his concentration, he dropped his weapons and held out both hands, trying his hardest to picture an iron cage clamping shut around Belasco, cutting the demon off from accessing his mind for good.

Kurt gasped with the effort but, slowly, very slowly, ghostly bars began to solidify around the snarling demon. 

Too slowly.

Before the cage had a chance to coalesce, Belasco made a swift slicing motion with his hand, cutting through the insubstantial bars and leaping off the edge of the cloud. 

Kurt gaped, then dashed after him, thinking only of keeping Belasco in his sights as he tumbled helplessly through the air...

The cotton-like clouds parted to reveal a massive, raging whirlpool swirling just below them. Belasco grinned over his shoulder, his golden eyes wild as he straightened his back and dove straight in to the black hole at its center. 

Kurt had just enough time to reflect that leaping after Belasco so mindlessly might not have been the wisest course of action before he, too, was swallowed up by the raging blackness.

To Be Continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) The multi-pirate fight scene and much of the dialogue for the preceding was quoted from Excalibur #16: Warlord (Part of the Cross-Time Caper) by Chris Claremont and Alan Davis. The rest of the bizarreatude is all mine. :)


	24. Chapter 18, Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: The following section may be disturbing to some readers. Viewer discretion is advised. :)

Kurt's frightening freefall stopped very suddenly. There was no jolt, no sensation of landing. No sensation at all, in fact, exccept for the slow realization of being alone in a strange, enclosed space. 

The darkness here was complete, even for Kurt's night-adapted eyes, and the hot, heavy air was almost unbearably rank. There was no breeze, no relief, only opressive humidity holding the stench in place: a sickening melange of stale sweat and mildew, of offal, decay and illness. 

Kurt tried to take only shallow breaths, but the humidity was stifling. He coughed, fighting to swallow back his gag reflex as he tried to use his sense of special awareness to get a feel for the room's size and layout. 

A strange chill ran up his spine, the short fur on the back of his neck and arms bristling. There was a presence behind him…barely there, almost insubstantial. He could feel it hovering close to his left ear, making his whole side tingle with discomfort. 

"You know that feeling you get when you're alone in the dark," it hissed. "The feeling that there's someone watching?"

The deep, ghostly voice was so faint Kurt had to strain to hear; yet, it seemed to fill the room. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, his tail wrapped so tightly around his leg he could feel his pounding heartbeat.

"Who are you?" he asked, working to keep his voice steady and strong. "What is this place?"

The voice didn't answer. 

Kurt opened his eyes to the blackness, only to leap back with a frightened yelp as a vaporous ball of pale, green light burst right in his face, leaving him in a darkness even deeper than before. Before he could recover, a slight, tired whimper to his left nearly make him leap out of his fuzzy skin. 

Turning to face the sound, Kurt found himself faced with a pair of eerie, glowing eyes, green and glassy, more like the eyes of an animal than a human. The creature they belonged to moved toward him on all fours, rubbing up against his legs and beating its long, fluffy tail across his knees.

"Why, you're a dog, aren't you!" Kurt exclaimed in relief, crouching down to scratch the tired, overheated canine behind its floppy ears. His accented voice sounded oddly muffled in the sweltering room. "Who's memory is this?" he wondered aloud, rising again to try to search for a door. "I don't remember ever being in a room like this."

The dog whimpered again, then started to wheeze. Kurt heard it fall to its side, panting for breath. 

He backed up against the wall, suddenly terrified that the dog had been infected with something catching. The smell of decay grew stronger as the dog's wet, gurgling pants grew increasingly ghastly. At that moment, Kurt was almost grateful that he couldn't see.

"Mroer?"

"Yipe!"

Kurt jumped again, clutching a hand to his pounding heart. 

"Mrew?"

A small weight on his shoulder, a soft purr, and suddenly a cat was rubbing against his cheek. The little animal stepped on to his shoulder and leaped down to the floor, blinking up at him with yellow-orange eyes...before it, too, fell to the floor. 

"Cat? Kitty-kitty? Are you all right?"

Kurt bent down, feeling around for the cat's soft fur, only to pull back with a shrill, horrified scream when, at his touch, the cat's cold flesh collapsed into an oozing pile of gore.

"What is this!" he shouted, thoroughly terrified. "Belasco!"

"Kurt!"

The familiar voice was so unexpected, for a moment it failed to register. A spark flared in the corner, replacing the blackness with flickering shadows. But even the weak light provided by the cheap plastic lighter was enough to reveal the speaker.

"Kitty!" he exclaimed, dashing over to where the brown-haired young woman was sitting cross legged on the filthy wooden floor. "Kätzchen! How did you get here?"

Kitty shrugged, standing up so she could look him over. 

"The Professor sent me," she said, meeting his eyes with a smile. "When I heard you'd come back to us, I just had to see you for myself. I've missed you Fuzzy."

Kurt smiled, his heart filling with affection for the girl as he squeezed her shoulders with both hands. 

"Mein Gott, Kätzchen, you look just as I remember you. It has been so long…" He sniffed, his voice growing slightly hoarse. 

Kitty shook her head, stepping forward for a warm, sisterly embrace.

"Come on, Fuzzy, don't get like that," she scolded gently, pulling back so she could look up at him. "We've all missed you, you know. Rachel and Jubilee and Rahne and Bobby - oh and especially Ororo." 

Her smile grew sly as she waited to see Kurt's response, but Kurt had barely heard. He was slowly backing away, trembling visibly from hair to feet, his narrow face twisted into an expression of horror and crushing guilt. For, although she had embraced him as a healthy, spirited young woman, Kitty - his Kitty, the girl he had rescued and watched grow up - his Kitty had pulled away from him as a rotting corpse.

"Kurt?" she asked, her dry, papery brow stretching as she narrowed her lusterless eyes. "Kurt, is something the matter?"

Kurt was unable to answer, unable to do more than stare as she started toward him, lurching like a puppet with a broken string. As she moved, a clump of rotting hair peeled back from her head, taking with it a patch of thin, yellowed skin. Kurt could now see the plate of her skull, and through that the pale watery blood soaking through her brain. 

She stopped several inches in front of him, reaching out to touch his arm.

Kurt shuddered violently and pulled back, the force of his reaction sending him toppling onto an old, moldy cot.

"Ow, hey!"

The mold-spotted sheet lurched under him as the cot's disgruntled inhabitant sat up. 

Kurt scrambled desperately to his feet, not wanting to imagine what could be under there, only to gasp in shock as Sage's dark head poked out from under the sheet. At first glance, she seemed perfectly normal - but then she stood up, revealing the gaping wound in her belly. 

Kurt gut twisted at the grisly sight, his breath quickening as images began to flood unbidden into his brain: Sage lying in the cave in a pool of her own blood...Sage's determined smile as she pressed her modified shocking device into his hand…

"What are you doing here," she demanded angrily, pushing past him to stand protectively in front of the peeling Kitty. The entire side of her torso was stained with blood; her uniform was stiff and dark with it. Gray-black patches of powdery mold spread from the stain all the way down to her shoes, growing in fuzzy patches up her neck and just behind her ear.

"I-I…" Kurt tried, but his throat felt constricted and he couldn't get the words out.

"You shouldn't be here!" Sage growled. "Don't you realize your presence is toxic!"

"Was?" Kurt breathed, his eyes darting around in terror as more rotting figures began to emerge from the shadows beyond the weak light of Kitty's flickering lighter. "Toxic…?"

"Why don't you get outta here, Elf," Logan's gruff voice snarled viciously. 

Kurt's eyes widened in shock and pain to see his best friend come staggering towards him, his stony face notched and scratched, his claws broken...

"Yeah," Benny said, his third eye leaking a thick, viscous liquid as he glared at his former leader. "Haven't you done enough already?"

Kurt's breath came in hitching gasps, tears streamed down his face. He shook his head, reaching back in hopes of drawing some support from the wall, only to meet something disturbingly soft...accompanied by a piercing scream.

"Don't touch me!" Melinda shrieked, dragging her scorched remains out of the corner to stand shakily behind Logan. Her once delicate, violet features were all but unrecognizable; her slender fingers nothing but charred bone. 

Kurt was nearly sick.

"Look what you've done to Kitty!" the girl cried, her voice fierce with accusation her blistered, blackened features couldn't express. "Your touch is poison!"

"They warned me," Kitty said sadly. "But, I didn't want to believe them. I couldn't… But it's true. You're cursed, Kurt."

"Cursed…?" Kurt repeated in confusion, watching in horror as Kitty crouched down beside the putrefied cat on the floor, her tendons stretching gruesomely under her parchment skin. A thick, runny fluid ran off her shoulders and throat to puddle on the floor at her feet. "What - what do you mean?"

Kitty looked up at him with whitened, cobwebby eyes. 

"Everything you touch gets ruined," she said darkly. "Don't think it will stop once you beat Belasco. The poison resides in your own heart."

Kurt shook his head in weak denial, his blood pounding hotly in his ears. 

"Nein…"

"Yes!" Benny retorted angrily. "It wasn't Belasco who left me to die in that cave! It wasn't Belasco who chose to save himself rather than stay with his team! It was _you_!"

" _You_ deserted us, Nightcrawler," Sage croaked with a toss of her mold-encrusted hair. " _You_. And, no punishment is great enough to make up for what you've done."

"You got some gall, Elf," Logan grunted, his scarred, stony features twisted in disgust. "Flirtin' with 'Ro, challengin' Belasco for control. Did you really think you could just make all this go away? What gives you the right to go on livin' when _you're_ the reason the rest of us were killed?"

"You know in your heart you were never cut out to be a leader," Sage said, her voice harsh and sharp. "You're too soft. If you'd been more like Scott, or even Ororo, the four of us might at least have gotten a proper burial. But, you couldn't make the tough decision to rescue one and not the other. You waited until it was too late to save any of us. And then, you teleported away - not because it was instinct, but because you were scared!"

"You're not an X-Man," Melinda spat through charred, broken teeth. "You're a coward."

"No..." Kurt sobbed, sinking down into a boneless heap on the splintery, uneven floor. "No, I wanted to go back for you. I tried! But Azazel—"

"You're too old for excuses, Kurt," Sage snarled in disapproval. "Don't try to blame your father for this. You made your own choices. And now it's time for you to pay, once and for all!"

The gathered corpses muttered their agreement. 

Kurt cringed further back against the wall, blinded by his tears as he sobbed into his hands. Sage's words rang with truth, slicing through the careful stitches Ororo had sewn so tenderly in his shattered heart. All the guilt and pain that had defined his existence for so long came back in a wild rush, flooding his mind with despairing blackness.

"Kurt Wagner should be consigned to the same fate he left us to suffer," Sage shouted, holding up her rotting, moldy arms. "Oblivion! Let's help Belasco erase this monster, once and for all!"

Together, the festering corpses raised their arms and advanced on the sobbing, trembling Kurt, their moaning threats and accusations swelling to fill the shadowy room. 

Kurt lowered his head, curling into a ball of hopeless shame.

"Nein...!" he protested into his knees, his accented voice thick and hoarse with tears. "No, it isn't real. This can't be real!"

But, the enraged zombies were closing in, their putrid stench burning his nostrils, stinging his throat. 

Kurt looked up in horror, crossing his arms protectively before his face as he screamed, "This isn't real! None of you are real! Belasco! Belasco, get me out of here!"

There was no response, and he hadn't expected one. He was alone, alone with a hoard of rotting corpses intent on tearing him apart...

And, the worst part was, he knew he deserved it.

Closing his eyes to block out their shuffling feet, Kurt actually felt himself give up. His tears flowed with regret, not fear: regret for Ororo, regret for himself. He had come close, so close to redemption. But in the end, he just wasn't strong enough, just as Belasco hadn't been strong enough to save his Beatrice from Azazel...

The zombies were closing in now, but Kurt didn't care. He welcomed oblivion. Let Belasco win, his thoughts seemed to say. Let him have his body. It would never bring him happiness. Only another lifetime of pain and disappointment. Kitty had been right. Even if he did defeat Belasco, nothing would change. Responsible or not, he would carry the pain of his teammates' deaths in his heart for the rest of his life, a pain that could only poison his relationships with the X-Men, twisting their friendship into something colder, more cautious. Eventually, even Ororo would turn from him. Better to die now, at the hands of his team. Better to endure the zombies' wrath than end up disappointing the only woman he had ever truly loved...

"If you love her so much, why don't you break your way out of this you big Dummkopf! These stinking zombies are no match for the Incredible Nightcrawler!"

"Who is that?" Kurt asked blearily, his voice muffled by the groaning zombies all around him, pummeling at his back and sides. "Who's that talking?"

"If you don't know, I'm not going to tell you," it said. "Now, get out of there! Schnell! Before you get us both wiped from existence!"

"But…but how?" Kurt asked weakly.

"Duh!" the little voice snarked. "Just stand up!"

Kurt shook his head. 

"I can't," he mumbled, hissing in pain as Melinda poked him maliciously in the eye with a bony finger. "I deserve to suffer."

The voice groaned in exasperation. 

"If there's one thing I can't stand," it said, "it's a false martyr. How can you be so selfish!"

"Selfish?" 

The stumps of Logan's stone claws jabbed him in the side, again and again, and he moaned.

"Yeah, that's right," the voice snapped. "Selfish! Do you have any idea how much trouble your friends are going through on your behalf right now? Do you have any idea how much they're risking to save you? Jean Grey almost lost her mind holding Belasco back, giving you time to pull yourself together. And, what about Ororo? She loves you, you idiot. How do you think she'd feel if, after all you've put her through, you just sat here and let yourself die?"

"I never thought of it that way," Kurt said, wincing sharply as Sage scratched his arm with her long, yellowed nails. Blood seeped from the wounds, but Kurt barely noticed, his focus almost entirely on the mysterious voice.

"Look at it from her point of view," the voice said. "She's already lost you once. Do you really want to put her through that again, after all she's done for you?"

"What…what do I have to do?" Kurt asked, starting to struggle against the suffocating pile of reeking corpses weakly beating and battering his body.

"Cage Belasco," the voice told him. "Shut him down once and for all. Take back control of the life that is rightfully yours."

"It's Belasco controlling these zombies, isn't it," Kurt realized, his anger rising, beginning to clear his clouded thoughts. "He's been manipulating me again, just has he always has... Why didn't I see it before?"

"Good question," the voice said dryly. "Now move your tail! You're closer to the goal than you think."

Kurt nodded firmly, determination pumping strength back into his heavy limbs as he pushed up against the zombies, scattering them like rotted rag dolls as he leaped to his feet. 

The horrible corpses crumbled into a fine, powdery dust and, with a searing ache of pity, Kurt watched it blow away...

"There now," the voice said approvingly from somewhere at Kurt's right. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"Who are you?" Kurt asked again, squinting his night-adapted eyes against a ray of bright sunlight. As he watched it spread through the room, the rough, cobwebby walls and rotted rafters faded slowly away. A rolling mountain landscape took their place, scented with pine and the distinctive smell of centuries upon centuries of grazing goats. Below him in the near distance, a large Ferris wheel turned slowly above the treetops, accompanied by the flagpoles of several brightly colored tents. 

Kurt brought a hand to his mouth. He knew this place! They were less than a mile away from his old circus!

"Who am I?" The little voice laughed out loud. "I'm you of course!" he said. "The part of you that knows better than to fall for such an obvious ploy. Gut Gott, man, Belasco was playing you like a harp and you were actually letting him! Though I will admit, that was a low blow. Belasco is one sick puppy, that's for sure."

Kurt furrowed his brow. 

"Why can't I see you?" he asked curiously, turning slowly in a complete circle.

"'Cause you didn't look up!"

Kurt looked up and laughed when he saw what looked to be a fourteen-year-old version of himself glibly hanging by his tail from a tree branch. The young teenager shot him a toothy smile, then teleported from the tree to his side with a double BAMF of sulfurous smoke.

"You're welcome, by the way," he said cheekily. "And, before you ask, Belasco isn't here. At least, not yet."

The boy gave him a pointed wink, nodding his curly head toward the colorful tents in the distance. 

Kurt's eyes opened wide as he realized what his younger self was suggesting.

"Kurt Wagner, you're a genius," he told him, and grinned, his sharp eyes already seeking out his foster mother's ancient purple trailer. 

The boy graced him with a playful bow.

"Cage the bastard for me, will ya," he said as he straightened. "I really like that Ororo lady."

Kurt raised an eyebrow, then chuckled. 

"So glad you approve," he said, shooting the boy a genuinely grateful smile before BAMFing away.

TO BE CONCLUDED!


	25. Chapter 18, Part IV and Finale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Everyone, guess what! I actually, factually, finally finished this chapter! That's right, this here bit I'm about to post marks the very end of the final chapter of this freshly revised story! All that's left now is the Epilogue! 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, and for your marvelous comments and reviews! I hope you like this last bit! :)
> 
> BAMF!

Kurt reappeared in the clearing beside the vibrantly purple wooden trailer his foster mother, Margali Szardos, had always used as her office/workshop - just in time to see a teenage girl in a sparkly pink leotard come running out of the main tent. 

"...Amanda?"

The girl stopped short and stared at him, her mouth falling open as her blue eyes grew unnaturally wide.

"No way," she said, her head shaking slightly as she looked him up and down, then up and down again. "There is no way I'm seeing what I think I'm seeing. Kurt…Kurt, that can't be you! Is it...?"

Kurt winced, realizing his mistake. He had seen the boy in the forest, so he'd pictured his old circus the way it had been when he was fourteen. Back when Margali was still a fortune-teller, her passion for sorcery little more than a hobby. For his forming idea to work, Kurt needed a skilled sorceress powerful enough to perform a spell of summoning. That meant he would have to age this circus at least five years - but how?

Amanda was circling him now, her expression appraising. She reached a hand out to his fuzzy cheek, but stopped before she actually touched him.

"Wow," she said, her eyes shining with wonder. "Who knew my scrawny foster brother would grow up to be so hot? How did this happen, Kurt? Were you poking around in Mom's spell books or something? Can you show me? 'Cause there's this big concert in town next week, and I—"

Kurt sighed, gritting his teeth. He really didn't have time for this. Holding out his hand, he concentrated as hard as he could on consciously picturing his foster sister as she had been at twenty-one. 

For a seemingly endless moment, nothing happened. Then, slowly, Amanda began to change. Right before his astonished eyes, his foster sister grew from a pretty teenager to a stunning young adult. The length of her ponytail shortened from her lower back to just below her shoulders, and her sparkly pink leotard morphed into the familiar red and black costume with the pointed shoulders the two of them had worn for their joint act.

Lowering his arm, Kurt took a moment to catch his breath, delighted with his success. 

Amanda looked around in confusion, clearly disorientated.

"Don't worry, Amanda," he said, focusing his concentration with all his might. "I'll have the rest of the circus caught up with you in a moment..."

Maybe it was his success with Amanda, or maybe he was just getting better at controlling his subconscious mind, but bringing his circus five years into the future was actually easier than he had expected. Kurt quickly scanned the colorful new tents and shiny trailers that now filled the large clearing for his foster mother's familiar purple trailer, spotting it near the outskirts of the camp. 

Leaving the befuddled Amanda to sort herself out, Kurt teleported directly to the trailer's open door, praying that his activities had not yet tipped Belasco off to his plan.

"Mom!" he called into the dimly lit space. "Mama, I need your help."

Margali looked up from her book, her sharp violet eyes glittering under the maroon kerchief that covered her frizzy, graying hair.

"What kind of help are we talking about, my son?" she asked, slowly placing a bookmark on the page she'd been reading and closing the thick, leather-bound tome. "If this is about tonight's show—"

"No, no, it has nothing to do with the show," Kurt said quickly, leaning forward with his palms pressed against her multi-stained, round table as he caught her concerned eyes with his desperate ones. "Mama, I need you to help me trap a demon."

*******

"Make that circle a little larger, Kurt," Margali instructed, her eye critical as she watched her foster son drag the thick piece of red chalk around the cluttered trailer's freshly cleared floor. "This pentagram has to be large enough to hold a full grown demon, remember. We don't want him escaping because his tail was stuck outside the circle, now do we?"

"There," Kurt said, joining the two ends of the circle with a flourish of his wrist. "How's that?"

Margali tilted her head, considering. 

"Looks about right," she said after a long moment. "Now, I need you to place these candles where each point of the star meets the circle." 

She pointed to five thick blood-red candles standing in a huddled row at the far end of one of her bookshelves.

"Got it," Kurt said, hurrying to do as he was told. 

His plan depended on catching Belasco by surprise, and he could feel his time growing short. If the demon found him before he was ready, all his efforts here could be for nothing...

"Good," Margali said once the candles were in place. "Very good. Now, help me place this cauldron in the center of the pentagram and we'll be ready to begin."

The large, black cauldron was far heavier than Kurt had expected, but somehow he and Margali managed to lug it into place without smudging a single line of the chalk pentagram he'd drawn. Standing back from the prepared space, he watched anxiously as Margali read through the spell of summoning once more, then raised her arms with a sudden shout.

A gust of cold wind blew through the ancient trailer, rattling the objects on their shelves. As it passed, the five red candles burst into flames as red as rubies, and the empty cauldron began to hiss and steam. 

Closing her violet eyes, Margali started to chant, softly at first, then with growing intensity and volume, rocking her slender body back and forth as she held her arms out toward the flickering candlelight.

Kurt stared at his entranced foster mother, his anxiety increasing, until—

"Don't look at me!" she scolded, her eyes still closed. "Watch the cauldron! This spell cannot succeed without belief. You must _believe_ your demon will appear there, or he will not."

Kurt nodded, fixing his gaze on the smoking cauldron as Margali resumed her chant.

*******

"He's close. He's very close."

Ginniyeh tilted her bald head, her scarred, sightless eyes turned in the direction of her father's voice. 

"Is it time for me to enter, father?" she hissed in her serpentine voice, an anticipatory smile spreading slowly over her pale features.

"Soon, my daughter," Azazel assured her, sharing a look with Mephisto across Kurt's prone body. A delicate sensor was positioned just over the unconscious mutant's forehead, the shadow it cast making his short, velvety fur seem almost black. "Very soon. I will give you the signal when the time is right."

"The final sensor is in place," Mephisto announced, his golden eyes fixed on the readouts flashing across the monitor of Dr. McCoy's laboratory computer. "Storage disk formatted and ready to receive data."

"Very good." Azazel smiled, his sharp fangs glinting in the florescent light of the medbay. "You have done well, my son. Doctor!"

Hank turned, apologizing to Scott as he reluctantly excused himself from his examination of Jean, who had only just started to regain consciousness after her own ordeal with Belasco. 

Crossing the room with great, loping strides, he said, "Yes? What's happened?"

"Nothing yet," the demon replied curtly, "but the next few minutes will be critical. I need you to keep a sharp eye on the monitors. If there is even the smallest change in my son's condition, I want to know immediately. Understand?"

McCoy ground his teeth, but swallowed his retort when his eyes fell on Kurt. The change in him was truly remarkable. Whatever else he had done, there was no denying that, in this case at least, Azazel had been true to his word. Kurt looked just as Hank remembered him. A bit thinner, perhaps, his cheeks slightly more hollowed, but that was only to be expected. Even his arm had been restored, the bone and flesh having regenerated only a matter of hours after Mephisto and Azazel had administered their formula. 

Hank knew that formula had been inspired in part by his own experiments with genetic manipulation, but he had still been stunned to see the effects of the demons' elixir in practice. The science they'd used was so far in advance of anything he knew, it might as well have been magic - an observation the brilliant doctor would be loathe to admit aloud.

Still, the results of the demons' efforts were undeniable. If they truly could repair his friend's mind as skillfully as they had restored his body, Hank was ready to lend whatever help they needed - no matter how obnoxious or irritating he might find them.

"I'm on it," he said, keeping his tone professional as he took up his post before the wall of beeping machines they had hooked up to monitor Kurt. 

As Azazel turned back to his own work, supervising the others, Hank brought a casual hand to the comm device at his belt. If everything worked out as planned, Kurt would be regaining consciousness relatively soon. And when he did, Hank wanted to be sure Ororo would be there to finally welcome him home...

*******

Whatever was in the cauldron hissed and boiled like lava, its thick, red-tinted steam filling the small trailer with a sharp, rusty smell. Margali's chanting continued to swell, Kurt's heart racing with nervous anticipation as he struggled to squint through the rising fog...

A flash of thin, blue lightening shot up from the bubbling kettle and, for an instant, the steam glowed purple. As Kurt watched, the blood-red vapor thickened like smoke, pouring down the cauldron's sides to roll along the floor. Slowly, the rolling, reddish steam picked up speed, rising, swirling, condensing into a dense, crackling cloud that hovered, spinning, just over the cauldron. 

Margali's chants rose to a wild crescendo as the revolving pillar of steam began to distort and bend. Kurt saw a shadow growing at its heart, darkening, deepening... Something was inside, struggling, fighting to get out. 

An unearthly chorus of shrieks and yowls roared up from the twisting cloud, joining with Margali's shouts. The chalk pentagram began to glow with a strange, pale light, and Kurt's breath caught in his throat. 

_Belasco..._

Fear gripped him...an awful, unearthly terror...and he staggered back, his long tail lashing as clutched his throbbing head in his hands. 

The demon was there, behind his eyes, his cruel talons digging painfully into Kurt's mind. Kurt cried out against the pain, the fear, but Belasco's wrath was too strong...too strong to fight... 

Voices seemed to surround him, hemming him in with cold whispers he couldn't ignore, couldn't block out. They flooded his mind with images of failure and fraud, teasing out his doubts, his guilt... 

And, they were right... He was no leader, no swashbuckling hero...only a coward, feigning confidence by hiding behind childhood fantasies, then BAMFing away when things got tough... His fate was just... The X-Men were better off without him...

Kurt shrank back against the wall, his shoulders stooping as he sank down...down...

"Get back here, Kurt!" 

"...Mama...?"

Kurt could barely hear Margali through the taunting whispers spinning through his screaming head, sapping away his spirit... But, he tried to listen, tried to follow her voice...

"You are allowing this demon to manipulate your fears," Margali snapped. "Now is the time to think with your head, not your heart!"

"But…but I can't hold him, Mama," Kurt gasped, his head pounding with the pressure of myriad conflicting thoughts and emotions, those freezing claws, threatening to pull him back down...down to a fractured madness he could not fight...

"He's stronger than I am…he has always been stronger…"

"Open your eyes!" Margali demanded, pointing a long, blood-red nail at the solidifying figure floating above the cauldron. "See the truth! Only your belief keeps your demon trapped within the pentagram. Your doubt will set him free!"

Kurt lifted his head, the reddish steam stinging his eyes and blurring his vision as he forced himself to take a shuffling step forward...then another...

Belasco snarled at him from within the smoky cloud, his thin lips moving in a silent chant as he desperately projected thoughts of hate and horror Kurt's way.

And, in that moment, Kurt knew his foster mother was right. Belasco _was_ trapped, helpless to escape the circle of chalk. His plan had worked! 

A surge of triumph filled him, his eyes brightening and his posture straightening as he turned his smile toward Margali.

But, his foster mother was no longer there. In her place, his subconscious had summoned the image of the only person he truly wanted to share this moment with. Her smooth, elegant features glowed with pride as she stepped toward him, sliding a loving hand up his back to rest supportively on his shoulder.

"Now, Kurt," Ororo told him, turning a rather predatory glare toward the struggling Belasco. "Do it now!"

"It will be my pleasure, meine Dame," Kurt assured her, his face taking on a look of intense concentration as he stretched out his arms. 

The mere feel of Ororo's presence at his side banished any lingering wisps of doubt, the whispers taunting that he wasn't good enough, wasn't strong enough... Fueled by her friendship, by the confidence she inspired, Kurt transformed the dusky smoke that still swirled above the cauldron into a thick, metal cage without a door, cutting off Belasco's influence once and for all. 

The demon's sputtering curses were silenced as the cage crashed to the floor, the reverberation extending out beyond the cramped, purple trailer to be reflected in the subtly altered rhythms of the monitoring devices that surrounded Kurt's bed…

*******

From her place by his bedside, Ororo's head shot up, her expression pinched with worry as she squeezed Kurt's fuzzy hand tighter against her chest.

"There's been a change in—" Dr. McCoy started, but Azazel's triumphant shout interrupted his report.

"Ha ha!" the demon crowed, his golden eyes glowing so fiercely, it gave the doctor chills. "He's done it! Ginniyeh, quickly!"

With sure, practiced movements, Mephisto guided his blind sister's hand until her bony fingers brushed Kurt's temple. The bald telepath tightened her lips, her concentration complete as she reached down into Kurt's mind…

*******

Kurt jumped back, pulling Ororo with him as an enormous, grasping hand materialized out of thin air just below the ceiling. It snatched Belasco's cage and began to rise.

"What is that?" Ororo exclaimed. "Kurt, are you—?"

"No, it's not me," Kurt said, and ran out of the trailer, following the diminishing image. 

"Wait!" he shouted. "Please - What's going on? Where are you taking him?"

The hand paused. Then, much to Kurt's alarm, a disembodied head faded into view. It was the head of a woman possessed of a stern, old-fashioned beauty. Soft, dark curls framed her pale, slender features, and her large eyes were of the deepest blue.

"My name is Ginniyeh," the head intoned, the resonance of her low voice causing his brain to rattle uncomfortably in his skull. "I have been sent by our father to extract the Belasco program from your mind. The retrieved data will be placed on a storage disk until such time as our father again requires its services."

"Services?" Kurt repeated with a frown. "Wait, do you mean—"

"No questions!" The floating head glared angrily, her eyes hard and cold. "Be satisfied knowing you have achieved the impossible. No one before has ever recovered from one of my mental wipes. And none will again, that I swear."

As she spoke, her features began to fade, slowly dissolving before Kurt's thoroughly unsettled gaze until only her steely eyes remained. 

"You are to sleep now, Kurt Wagner," Ginniyeh ordered, her deep, serpentine voice seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere, enveloping his thoughts with her will. "When you wake, your mind will be healed. But I warn you now, _brother_ , if our paths should ever cross again no one will be able to shield you from my vengeance. Not even Azazel."

The cruel eyes vanished, along with Belasco's cage, leaving Kurt with a sensation of indescribable lightness tingling right in the center of his brain. His world gave a sickening lurch, the fairground around him spinning woozily before everything snapped to black…

*******

The response from the school was overwhelming. 

Nightcrawler had been presumed dead so long, even the older students knew of him only as a name on a campus building, from mission case studies and stories the teachers told, from the memorial holograph hanging in the mansion's Hall of Heroes. The rumor of his return spread around the school like an urban legend; everyone wanted to catch a glimpse of the man who had endured a total mind-wipe and, not only survived, but managed to crawl his way back to sanity...and his friends... 

For the first week after Kurt regained consciousness, Hank and Jean had to post extra security in the medbay just to keep the nosier students from disturbing his rest. They moved him to a small, private room and, before long, the walls and tables were papered with cards and letters from former teammates who had retired from the X-Men and scattered around the globe. Streams of visitors brought cheerfully colored flowers and sparkly balloons...including Anna and Paul, who were thrilled to discover the unconscious demon they'd landed on had turned out to be _the_ Kurt Wagner, the fallen hero for whom their dormitory wing had been named.

While he was still too weak to leave his medicot, Ororo stuck by his side day and night, only leaving to teach the odd class or to sneak a few treats from the kitchen to share after dinner. At first, Kurt was disoriented, confused. Everything that had happened in his mind with Belasco and Jean, Charles and Ororo, was like a dream he could only half-remember, or even believe. The Professor assured them both that such memory loss was natural and even expected. After all, Kurt _hadn't_ been conscious when the battle took place, as he and Ororo had been.

What Kurt did recall was how brave Ororo had been to approach him in that schizoid state up on the roof of the cathedral, and how she had been there to support him at the end, holding his newly reformed hand through the worst of his ordeal. Her face had been the first thing he'd seen upon regaining consciousness. In the haze of bright florescent light, she had seemed an angel to his exhausted eyes, her snowy hair shining like a halo around her face and shoulders, her smile alight with relief, and joy. 

The sight had touched his heart, the depth of emotion in her smile leaving him lost for words...

When Hank finally declared Kurt well enough to leave the medbay and move into quarters of his own, Ororo was there to help him take his first steps on his newly restored feet.

And, some months later, when Professor Xavier called an assembly of the entire school to officially welcome Nightcrawler back to the team, Storm was at his side, her eyes glowing with pride as she watched the packed auditorium rise for a standing ovation.

Now, they stood together in the darkened greenhouse, the light of the half-moon filtering through the leaves of the fig tree they had planted together so many, many years before. Keeping his golden eyes fixed on hers, Kurt slowly sank to one knee, somehow finding the courage to ask her the question that had been burning in his heart since before he'd ever heard the name Belasco.

Ororo stared for a long moment. The moonlight limning her lovely face brought tears to his eyes as he watched her nod, somberly pressing her warm forehead to his as she whispered her acceptance over and over again... 

Pulling back gently, Kurt rose to his feet and held out the ring he'd been concealing in the spade of his tail, slipping it gently on her finger. Catching her tearing eyes with his, he touched the shining silver of her hair with tender fingers, and her brilliant smile banished any lingering doubts from his heart. 

There was no need for words as the soft breeze from the open doors rustled the leaves above their heads, drawing them closer until their lips finally met.

This kiss was the delicate droplet that heralded the rising flood; the rich scent of rain before the storm. It was an instant of perfect joy, clear and sharp and warm. Their tears mingled as they fell, their breaths laced with laughter as the full realization of their victory at last hit home. 

Spurred by Ororo's dedication and love, Kurt Wagner had finally found his redemption. His Beatrice had guided him home.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Azzy's Epilogue - coming soon! :)


	26. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As Schmendrick said in _The Last Unicorn_ : "There are no happy endings, because nothing ends..." But, this particular story must wrap up here, with Azazel's Epilogue. Azzy may have given up on corrupting Kurt, but that doesn't mean he's no longer out to get him, or to claim the fealty he wanted from him - in the cruelest way possible.
> 
> Thank you very much for reading, and especially for your reviews. They're all deeply, deeply appreciated. Thank you! :D

In a realm out of time, in a dimension as isolated as it was barren, Azazel lounged on his stony throne. 

A flickering image wavered gently before him: a wall of light projected down from the high, craggy ceiling. From the side, the holographic projection seemed little more than a thin white line of glowing energy, barely a centimeter thick. But, viewed from the front, the image was as clear and encompassing as a window.

A window that looked out into another world...

"You are still here, Master?" 

Ydrazil's slow, surprised voice rumbled from the room's arched doorway, his hulking figure nearly invisible in the relative darkness behind the bright projection. 

"Mephistopheles is waiting for you to cross with him into Your Earth."

Azazel lifted his head, but kept his golden eyes fixed on the 'screen'.

"Oh, Ydrazil," he said. "Come here, my boy. I wish to show you something."

Ydrazil cringed, but did as he was bidden, lumbering silently across the room to lurk behind his master's throne.

Azazel nodded toward the projection, a small, surprisingly tender smile stretching his dark goatee.

"I'm planning to visit them tonight," he said. "A singularly handsome-looking pair, don't you think?"

Ydrazil leaned closer, squinting at the images in confusion. 

The scene in front of them looked like footage shot by a hand-held camera, somewhat shaky and unprofessional. Whoever held the camera had it aimed up at the lower branches of a large tree, where two small children were happily climbing and swinging. 

A slender, female hand came into the shot, beckoning the children down, and they leaped to the ground with astonishing agility, their dark skin, long tails, and pointed ears appearing bright blue in the sunlight. Still, so many in Azazel's realm sported those same features, if they had any special significance here, Ydrazil missed it.

Azazel grinned proudly, his glowing eyes following the boys as they joined a laughing man with similar features setting plates out on a red-and-white checked picnic cloth. Only, his blue skin appeared fuzzy, and his hands had just three fingers each.

"The boys are twins, you know," said the ancient mutant, his red tail swaying. "A fortunate happenstance, I would say, considering their parents aren't getting any younger..."

Ydrazil frowned, wondering if he should risk asking why they were watching this, when the camera seemed to zoom in until the laughing man's face filled nearly the entire screen.

"M-Master," the hulking mutant gasped in recognition. "Isn't-Isn't that—?"

"The one who got away?" 

Azazel chuckled, his eyes bright with surprising good humor. 

"Or, so he thinks... The feed from the microchip I implanted in my daughter-in-law's temple is working perfectly, wouldn't you say? Even after seven years. I must admit, I'm impressed. I really should commend those boys and girls in the lab."

"But, Master," Ydrazil said, "why would you go to visit _him_? He hates you!"

Azazel laughed. 

"Ah, my thick, foolish Ydrazil, you see the world in such stark tones. No, my Kurt doesn't hate me. He distrusts me, he despises me, he resents me, and he rebels against all I stand for, but he certainly doesn't _hate_ me." 

He leaned forward in his throne, his gleaming eyes calculating as they followed the roughhousing twins.

"But, I am not traveling to my Earth to visit him. And, I don't intend for him to see me."

"Huh?" Ydrazil scratched his head. "But...?"

"I am going to meet my grandchildren. Tonight, after their loving parents have tucked them safely into their beds."

Azazel smiled broadly, clearly reveling in the anticipation. 

Ydrazil's confusion only deepened.

"But why, my lord - if I may be so bold," he stammered. "Of what use could two children be to you?"

"Children don't stay children forever, Ydrazil," Azazel chided him. "These happy youngsters will one day grow into restless teenagers: naïve, impressionable, pigheaded, and most of all, desperate to assert their independence from overprotective parents too old and world weary to fully appreciate their frustrations. But, I will show them understanding; offer them the freedoms they desire. And they will come to me. They will choose _me_ , of their own free will, and when they do..." He rubbed his taloned hands together. "Oh, my boy, when they do, I will have revenged myself upon my insolent son once and for all."

The demon tilted his head back and began to laugh, a cold triumphant cackle.

Ydrazil hesitated, but joined in, still not quite sure he understood his master's plan.

"Then...why go now?" he inquired cautiously. "Why not wait until they _are_ teenagers?"

"And have them shy away like sheep from a wolf?" Azazel barked another derisive laugh and shook his head. "No, I must approach them now, and in disguise, while they are still too young to understand my position. After all, what self-respecting parents would believe their children's tales of the boogieman in the closet?"

"Boogieman?" Ydrazil snorted. 

Azazel shot him a look.

"Yes, I will have to play the clown for a while," he admitted with some distaste. "Fairy tales and shows of magic - that's the best way to earn a child's trust...without raising the suspicions of their parents. But, I will build on that foundation, nurturing it as they grow. And, when I do reveal my true self, my true _power_...my grandchildren will be all the more eager to join me." 

He smirked darkly, then sighed.

"That is where I went wrong with my Kurt, I know," he said. "I allowed him to remain in the care of Margali, thinking a sorceress such as she would be too concerned with keeping her place on the Winding Way to nurture a fuzzy, blue child. But, to my surprise, she left the Way in favor of raising her children, completely ruining my son with notions of 'forgiveness' and 'love'. By the time I finally returned to claim him, he had already found acceptance with his team of deluded do-gooders and it was too late to undo the damage."

Azazel bared his fangs, and slammed his fist on the arm of his throne. 

"I will not make the same mistake with my grandchildren. Their potential is far too great to be lost to the forces of good."

Ydrazil nodded, but before he could say anything, a tall, dapper man in a tailored business suit approached from the shadows behind the screen.

"Father," the man said in Mephisto's voice, "the doorway to your Earth closes in three minutes. What is the hold up?"

"There is no hold up," Azazel told him sharply. "You simply have no patience. Are you prepared for your mission?"

"Fully," Mephisto assured him stiffly. "But, with respect, we must leave now if I am to be on time for the meeting to get that videogame we designed on the shelves."

Azazel hit a camouflaged button on the side of his throne, then stood, striding through the holographic projection as it flickered and faded away. He activated the image inducer at his belt and held an arm of his elegant suit jacket out to his similarly disguised son, indicating the arched doorway.

"After you," he said.

Glancing back at the cringing Ydrazil, he snapped, "You are not to discuss what we talked about with anyone, is that understood?" 

"Yes, Master," the hulking mutant assured him quickly. "I wouldn't dream of it."

"Good," Azazel said, and smiled, turning to follow his son from the room.

Ydrazil watched them go, then sat heavily on the stone step in front of his master's throne, staring at the empty space where the images of the happy family had flickered only a minute before. 

A shared picnic under the trees, out in the sunlight...

It had seemed a scene out of paradise to the scarred, brutalized demon and, for a moment...a brief moment...Ydrazil felt something... A strange stab of pity for those smiling children, that laughing man...

A confused burst of panic quickly pushed the unfamiliar feeling aside, but Ydrazil was still left shaking, and very, very frightened.

It was wrong to question Azazel in anything, especially in matters of family. If Azazel thought it best to lure those children from their parents, it was best and that was all there was to it.

Feeling slightly calmer, Ydrazil strode to the corner and picked up his mop and bucket, washing away his doubts as he scrubbed at the stones of his master's throne room. 

Before long, his conversation with Azazel had faded away...along with his memory of the two smiling boys...

**~fin~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! Stay tuned now for the concluding chapters of _An Unsung Hero,_ coming soon! :D


	27. Awesome Illustration by CurlyyHairGirl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's a work of fantastic fanart sent to me by CurlyyHairGirl. Thank you so much!!! :D :D


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